


The Silent Key

by Arianna



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 18:09:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 128,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianna/pseuds/Arianna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Blair's press conference, Colonel Maybourne makes him an offer he doesn't dare refuse. (Note: This is NOT an SG1 crossover.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Story Concept by Janet  
> With thanks to Vern for the Morse Code  
> And very special thanks to my betas, Trislindsay and StarWatcher  
> And with immense gratitude to Peter Neverland for all the beautiful artwork!  
> Warning! You may want to have tissues handy!  
> (Trust me, it’s a happy ending)

After spending most of the day at his office, returning artifacts and books, culling documents and files, and removing all evidence of his tenancy, Blair was exhausted by the time he lugged up the last box from his car and let himself into the loft. Giving the door a nudge with his heel to swing it closed, he continued straight to his room where he carefully set the heavy box on the floor beside the others. Straightening, he looked resignedly at the three cartons containing the detritus of his academic career. Not much to show for nearly half his life – but then, education, the pursuit of knowledge and the honing of abilities to research, analyze, synthesize and write didn’t fit well into boxes.

Turning his back on them, he vaguely wondered where his mother was. He shrugged off his jacket as he returned to the main living area, and noticed the door was still slightly open. After slinging his coat over a hook, he was just reaching to push it closed, when there was a solid knock that sent it swinging open. Figuring it was one or more of the many journalists who had been dogging his steps the last few days, and scowling irritably, he shoved the door hard to slam it shut.

Only to have it bang on a well-shod foot stuck just inside the frame and bounce back.

“Give it rest, already!” he snapped, yanking it fully open to firmly tell the reporter to get lost. “I have no com –”

Blair broke off and gaped with something akin to horror at the sight of the uniform. Having no clue as to why someone in the military would be darkening their door – but thinking this couldn’t be good – Blair’s gaze narrowed warily as he fought back insipient panic. After everything that had gone wrong in the past two weeks, a military investigation into the existence of a possible sentinel wasn’t inconceivable, but surely his press conference would have diffused such interest.

Dear God, the last thing they needed was some militaristic Dr. Frankenstein wanting to whisk Jim into a lab to figure out what made him tick. The very idea spiked such atavistic fear that Blair’s stomach cramped, and he thought he might vomit.

But the guy just stood there, looking at him with a slight smile and an air of anticipation. Breathlessly grasping at straws, thinking – hoping – the guy might be a former colleague of Jim’s who had no more potentially dangerous agenda than looking up an old friend, Blair hastened to apologize. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

“Mr. Sandburg? I’m Colonel Maybourne from the NID, the National Intelligence Department,” the officer stated congenially. “May we come in?”

“We?” Blair echoed uncertainly, feeling uncomfortably like an idiot and frowning in confusion as he looked past the impeccably groomed man at what appeared to be an empty hall.

Maybourne shifted his stance and, shouldering forward enough to make Blair back up a step, gestured to someone just beyond Blair’s view. When two other men appeared – one also in uniform and the other in nondescript clothing and cuffed – Blair’s eyes widened with appalled recognition and a shiver of terrified foreboding goose-pimpled his skin.

“Brackett!” he gasped, and looked wildly at Maybourne. The colonel was too close, standing less than an arm’s-length away. There was no chance of running. Shit. Shit. This was bad. “What’s going on here?” Blair demanded, trying for a tone of outrage but knowing he just sounded scared.

“Maybe we could discuss this inside? Unless you want your neighbors …?” Maybourne suggested with casual and congenial aplomb that seemed hideously surreal in the circumstances.

Blair’s gaze narrowed at the repulsively oily pleasantness of Maybourne’s tone and small smile that was distinctly at odds with the threatening menace in the man’s cold eyes. Not good. _So_ not good. In fact, very bad.

His breath tight in his chest, his gaze flashing between Maybourne and Brackett, Blair briefly considered ordering the Colonel to go to hell and take Brackett with him. But … Brackett knew too much. If this Colonel believed the rogue agent, Jim could be in a world of trouble. Swallowing hard, he decided he had no choice but to find out what Maybourne wanted and try to convince him that, whatever it was, he was barking up the wrong tree. “Yeah, yeah, okay,” he muttered reluctantly, more than half certain he was making a mistake even as he stepped back to allow them all into the loft.

As the burly sergeant escorted his prisoner into the apartment, Brackett gave Blair a cocky grin and winked. “Been a while, Sandburg. Hear things haven’t been going so great for you. Ah, well, you know what they say. One man’s bad luck is another’s good fortune.”

Blair tightened his jaw and his gaze flashed to Maybourne. “So, talk.”

Maybourne took off his cap and settled it under his arm. “Brackett told me a story some time ago, but I didn’t give it – or him – much credence. However, recently, his far-fetched claims became a lot more, uh, shall we say, believable?”

“Brackett is a con man,” Blair grated as he crossed his arms, ignoring the prisoner’s exaggerated look of being sorely wounded by his assessment. “He’d say anything he thought was to his advantage. You can’t trust him.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Maybourne said loftily and chuckled. “But, you have to admit, after all the media hype the last little while, his claim of knowing a ‘sentinel’ is more intriguing than it was.”

“I explained all that,” Blair insisted with an exasperated gesture. “The press conference –”

“Tsk, tsk, Sandburg,” Lee Brackett intervened with an insouciant grin, shaking his head. “Telling lies like that on national television? But kinda touching really, the guide falling on his sword to protect his sentinel. Hope Jimmy appreciates you.”

Blair glared at Brackett and, his hands fisting, he fought the sick fear that twisted in his gut. “I want him out of here,” he growled to Maybourne, his glance also taking in the sergeant holding tight to Brackett’s arm. “The man’s a raving lunatic and a dangerous felon. He should be locked up. I want you all to leave now.”

“Oh, let’s not be so hasty,” Maybourne replied dryly. With an appreciative glance of approval around the loft, he moved into the living room. “Nice apartment you have here. I understand you share the place with Detective Ellison – the, uh, guy you say you told lies about in your paper.” Making himself comfortable, he sat down on the loveseat, tossed his cap down beside him, and waved the sergeant and Brackett to the sofa. Looking up at Blair, he drawled, “At Lee’s insistence, I’ve done some of my own research. I have to say that I find his assertions … compelling. Why don’t you sit down and we’ll have a chat?”

“I don’t want to talk you,” Blair retorted. “Get out.”

Maybourne studied his fingernails. “If I leave here unsatisfied, I’ll go directly to the local media and advise them that I have reason to believe that Detective Ellison is, in fact, a ‘sentinel’. Is that what you want?” When his gaze lifted to Blair’s, the colonel’s eyes were flat and hard. “Seems to me you went to great lengths to send the reporters haring off in another direction. Be a shame to blow it now.”

Blair held his gaze for a long moment as he debated whether or not to call the man’s bluff. Finally, he closed the door and moved across the floor to sit in the chair by the fireplace. “What do you want?”

“I want you,” Maybourne replied sweetly. Spreading his hands as if making a generous offer, he added, “If you give me what I want, we’ll leave the detective’s secret buried.”

“Me? What would you want with me?” Blair asked incredulously, not entirely feigning his surprise as he glanced from the colonel to Brackett and back. Though he was doing his best to appear reasonably calm, he felt trapped, as if the walls were closing in on him and the air was being sucked out of the room. “And,” he hastened to add, “I gotta tell you, man, you’re absolutely wrong about Jim. Brackett is spinning a web of lies here. There is _no_ secret.”

“Come, come, Blair – may I call you, Blair?” the colonel asked facetiously as he draped an arm over the back of the loveseat. “By all accounts, you’re a very bright boy, so let’s not dance around. The fact is I’m here to do you a favour. After that press conference, you must be at loose ends, not sure what to do with your life now. But I’m thinking that if you could help one sentinel gain control, you could help others. So, the good news is that I’m offering you a job.”

“A job?” Blair squeaked, startled. A chill rippled over his skin and he crossed his arms to hide the tremble in his hands. “Based on Brackett’s claims? You’ve got to be out of your mind.” He snorted and shook his head. “I made up all that stuff about sentinels.” When Maybourne just stared at him, not unlike a snake contemplating a mouse he intended to swallow whole, Blair blustered, “Is that it?”

“Well, not quite,” Maybourne admitted, once again studying his nails.

“Look, it’s been a long day and I’m tired. Just spit it out,” Blair said, trying for bravado but very afraid he still just sounded scared stiff.

Maybourne pinned him with a direct gaze. “You, perhaps more than anyone else, can appreciate that a sentinel project would be highly classified. No one – and I mean, _no one_ – can know we’ve been here. And, if you accept my offer, no one can know you have answered your government’s call for assistance.”

“Like I’d accept a job from you,” Blair retorted irritably but the colonel’s reptilian stare and eerily benign smile unnerved him.

Once again, Blair glanced at Brackett, who was slouching comfortably and giving him a complacent grin reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat. “Don’t underestimate him, Sandburg. Maybourne is very sharp – and utterly ruthless,” Lee advised with a conspiratorial wink. “He knows you’re the interesting one. What’s one sentinel?” he continued rhetorically with a negligent shrug. “But a squad of them? A platoon? A regiment? Now, that’s worth whatever it takes. Face it, kid. Uncle Sam wants you – and Uncle doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

Not bothering to hide his aversion for the criminal, Blair’s eyes narrowed and, with an effort, he bit back any retort. Returning his scrutiny to Maybourne and shaking his head, he queried impatiently, “Why is Brackett here?”

Before the colonel could answer, Lee leaned forward, his cuffed hands dangling between his knees. “Who do you think told them the ‘guide’ was the key, huh? Remember I saw the two of you in action. A sentinel isn’t much good without a guide, is he? You coach Ellison and help him maximize the use of his senses, keep him from … what did you call it? Zoning? You keep him focused. If the military wants to train sentinels, they need someone who knows what he’s doing. I figure you’re just about the only guy in the world who has the experience for that job.”

“When the story about Ellison first broke, Brackett had a guard call me – we’ve, uh, worked together in the past – and told me that, as good as the story was, he could offer me better. For a consideration, of course,” Maybourne added. “If it turns out that he’s right, that you are this ‘guide’ as he claims, then he goes free.”

Aghast, Blair exclaimed, “You’d turn him loose? You’ve got to be kidding! This guy … this guy can’t be trusted. He’s ruthless. He’ll do or say anything for a buck, let alone a ‘get out of jail free’ card!”

Maybourne shrugged. “Brackett isn’t your concern.”

“He’s a pathological liar,” Blair asserted, deciding his only hope was to bluff his way out by hanging his stand on Brackett’s completely amoral propensity for lying. “I don’t have any idea about what he’s talking about. Guide? He’s jerking you around. I made up a bunch of bullshit about Ellison, that’s it, that’s all.”

“Uh huh,” Maybourne grunted and probed his cheek with his tongue as he studied Blair. Silence fell over the loft and stretched until Blair wanted to scream, but he did his best to sustain a sullen expression. The colonel sniffed and scratched his chin. “Why did you decide to come clean in that press conference?” he asked, sounding almost indifferent.

“The assassin, Klaus Zeller, nearly killed two of my best friends because the media was getting in the way of Jim doing his job.” Blair replied in exasperation and then sighed, trying to sound as if he was infinitely tired of the whole discussion. Raking back his hair, he sank back against the chair. “My PhD wasn’t worth that.” His gaze dropping away, he shrugged lackadaisically, doing his best to convey ‘you win some, you lose some’.

“Told you he was a noble little bastard,” Lee gloated cheerfully. “Tell me, ‘Chief’, does Jimmy know how much you love him? Or even after you crucified yourself for him, does the stupid bastard still take you for granted?” Blair’s eyes snapped up and the cold threat in them made Brackett laugh. “Down, boy,” he chuckled. “You’re not good enough to take me out.”

His jaw tightening, Blair looked away, toward the balcony windows. It wasn’t working. Maybourne wasn’t buying his story but, still, he had to brazen it out. “So now what?” he asked, sounding bored. “Brackett goes back to his cell and you leave me the hell alone?” Turning his gaze to Maybourne, he asserted, “‘Cause you’re wasting your time here.”

With a tight shake of his head, the colonel replied, “No, I don’t think I am. I’ve looked at Ellison’s service record and the reports of his debriefing when he was brought back from Peru. I’ve also examined his history as a cop. He was always good – but in the past better than three years, since you joined up with him, he’s been downright awesome. He’s definitely got an edge. The only question for me is your part in all this.” He paused and, leaning forward, one arm braced on his knee, he again leveled his cold eyes at Blair. “I’m not buying your fraud story, kid. So let me lay it out for you. You either agree to come when I call, no questions, no delays and no one knowing where you’re going, or I’ll feed Ellison to the media for breakfast, maybe add a few tidbits like this, uh, zoning thing. I guess that would kinda leave him vulnerable, huh? Wouldn’t want the wrong sort to learn about that little weakness. Your call. What’s it gonna be, sport?”

Blair tried to draw a deep breath, but his chest was too tight and he shuddered. Licking dry lips, his gaze flicked around the loft, desperately seeking a way out. For now, the media, everyone at Rainier and downtown – everyone but this guy – was buying his press conference. But if the military stirred up more attention, if the media really started looking into Jim’s background … and it wasn’t just the media. As annoying as they were, now that Zeller was no longer a threat, they were just pests to be endured. But what if the criminal element started to believe it? Jim’s life could be endangered. He couldn’t, just _couldn’t_ risk that. There had to be a way to stop this nightmare. He stared at Maybourne, wondering if the man would go through with his threat … and all he could see was ruthless intent. The bastard would do it. He’d put Jim’s life at risk just to get what he wanted.

But, Jesus – this guy was talking about selling his soul to the military machine.

Nausea curdled in his gut. This couldn’t be happening. There _had_ to be a way out. It was just Brackett’s word against his, right? And even Maybourne conceded the rogue agent couldn’t be trusted. If he could just get Maybourne to believe that he was almost equally immoral in having made use of his friendship with Jim for fraudulent purposes ….

“Okay,” he brazened with a shrug of feigned indifference and compliance. “Jim sure in hell doesn’t need a whole bunch more grief in his life. I’ve caused him enough trouble already with all the lies I told. Suppose I agree to be this so-called guide?” he offered with a slow, supercilious smile. “God knows, you’re absolutely right that I could use a job right now, even if it is all a bunch of crap. What do you mean, ‘when you’re ready’? And, how long are we talking here? Do I get a formal contract for a minimum period of servitude? I don’t actually have to enlist, right? Because it won’t take long for you to find out this is all a bunch of crap. You’ll send me a bunch of wannabe sentinels and we’ll get absolutely nowhere, because there are no such things as sentinels and guides. But I hardly think it’s fair if I uproot everything here and then get sent packing when you realize it’s all a colossal waste of time.”

“Oh, no, that wouldn’t do at all,” Maybourne rejoined, pursing his lips and shaking his head. “But I gotta give you marks for sticking to your story that it was all a scam. I respect loyalty, I really do. This Ellison must be something really special for you to trash your whole life for him. But give it a rest, kid. You’re between a rock and a hard place. Either you come on board and train the service men and women I send to you, or I’ll do everything in my power to destroy your Detective Ellison.”

Maybourne’s relentlessness was driving him crazy. Too agitated to remain still, Blair jumped to his feet and began to pace, his hands dancing in the air to underscore his protest of the absurdity of it all. “This is really nuts, you know that?” he challenged hotly. “You’re believing this … this psychopath and threatening to ruin a good man’s career – for what? You can’t _seriously_ believe there are any such things as sentinels or, or guides!”

“What I don’t believe is that a man would toss away his life’s work, career and reputation just because his buddy was having some trouble with the media. _Especially_ not a man who was committing fraud and using said buddy in the first place. That kind of man would have taken the money and run,” Maybourne replied complacently. “Blair, I didn’t believe any of what Brackett said _until_ that press conference. But when I watched you at that podium, I knew my old friend Lee was telling me the truth.” He scratched behind his ear and cocked a brow. “Time’s up. You in or not?”

Blair froze in shock. _My press conference convinced this guy?_ Devastated by the futility of it all, he had to stifle the urge to moan. Panting shallowly, unable to get enough air, Blair stared at Maybourne. God, this really was a nightmare. A fucking nightmare. Either he capitulated or Jim ….

Feeling dazed, overwhelmed, Blair scrubbed his face and turned in a slow circle, wishing so badly that he could see some way out. But Maybourne had his number. He couldn’t risk Jim’s life. That was what the damned press conference had been about in the first place. Killing the story dead before … before it got any more dangerous. He was trapped. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he muttered with a crushing sense of abject despair. He took a deep breath to center himself and turned to face the colonel. “Okay, if I do agree to this insanity, what happens next?”

Smiling benignly, Maybourne relaxed. “It’s gonna take me some time to round up the first batch of possible sentinels but I’ve figured out a place to start. You’d be surprised how many come back from missions complaining of all kinds of somatic problems: the light’s too bright, their clothing drives them crazy, sounds are too loud – you get the picture. Even if they’re not full-fledged sentinels, their heightened senses, if trained, could give us an edge. In the meantime, I want you to work up the parameters for what you require in a training and residential facility.” He pulled a card from his pocket and tossed it to Blair, who caught it awkwardly. “Send me the information at that email address in the next day or so. When I’ve got twenty or so candidates – enough to get started with – and a training facility lined up, I’ll call you to report for duty. As for how long? You’ll stay with the program as long as I say so.”

Blair’s head jerked up. Oh, God. The man was talking bondage for life. How could he do this? How could he just vanish off the face of the earth? “You can’t be serious!” he stormed. “You’re talking slavery! Haven’t you heard? That’s illegal. You can’t just waltz in here and coerce a citizen to –”

“I have responsibilities to ensure the security of three hundred and fifty million people,” Maybourne cut in smoothly, apparently unimpressed with his protestations. “Accordingly, I’m guided by the good of the many, not the one.” With a smirk, he added, “You’re over-reacting to the situation. I’m offering a career position at a very good salary – after that press conference, I doubt you’ll get any other offer as good. And it’s your choice whether you accept the offer or not. That’s hardly ‘slavery’. There’ll be no ball and chain around your leg.”

“I’m not prepared to sign my life away. Get out,” he bluffed.

Maybourne glanced at his watch. Nodding, he looked up with a bright smile. “Time enough to make the evening news.” Gesturing toward the phone on the wall behind him, he asked solicitously, “Did you want to call Detective Ellison to give him a heads-up? He’s in the hospital, isn’t he? Wounded in the performance of his duties? He might want to alert the staff that a bevy of reporters will be showing up.” He sniffed and appeared to give the matter some thought. “On the other hand, I hate to give up on this project – it has such great potential. I suppose I could simply have him called back into the service of his country. Brackett says the guide is more useful when it comes to training sentinels, but I really don’t see why a sentinel can’t be just as effective in helping others to maximize their potential. Do you?”

“You’re a real bastard, you know that?” Blair charged furiously.

“So I’ve been told,” Maybourne agreed. “Last chance, Blair. You sure you don’t want to reconsider your refusal to volunteer your services for the good of the nation?”

Though Blair glared stonily at the colonel, he knew he didn’t really have a choice. This guy held all the power – and it was Jim’s life that was at risk if the secret came out. Or Jim’s future if they hauled him back into uniform. Blair swallowed heavily against the bile that burned the back of his throat and bowed his head. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t do that to Jim.

Helplessly, he looked around the loft, and at the sergeant who wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Okay, okay. You win,” he rasped in defeat. “What now? You have some oath of secrecy for me to sign?”

“Oh, given the implications for Ellison if you fail to fulfill your end of the bargain, I think I can trust you to keep our deal confidential until I call – at which point, so far as anyone here is concerned, you’ll simply disappear.”

Disappear? Disappear how, exactly? Maybourne kept saying that, as if it was something easy to do. But that wouldn’t work. Jim wouldn’t quit. He’d keep looking and if he ever guessed ….

Numb, feeling icily cold with hopeless despair, Blair rubbed his arms and told himself to get a grip. If this was going to work, he needed to think, needed to get with the program. Frowning, he shook his head. “I can’t just disappear. Not without someone looking for me.”

“Then we’ll fake your death. Too easy,” Maybourne returned, waving away the problem. Though Blair gaped at him in disbelief, he continued on breezily, “Probably kinder, when you think about it, for those you leave behind. They won’t always be wondering and worrying about where you are or what’s happened to you. You can leave those arrangements to me.”

“Yeah, I bet I can.” Huffing a bitter, hollow laugh, Blair shook his head despairingly. “For the rest of my life, you want me to teach people how to become better killing machines.”

“Oh, come on,” Maybourne objected, sounding sincerely offended. “I’m offering you a chance to serve your country. Giving our men and women an edge against the enemy makes you a hero in my book.”

“Hero? You would see it that way, even if you have to make me a virtual slave to do it.” Regarding the Colonel balefully, Blair tried to think of a way out. There _had_ to be a way out. He couldn’t conceive of spending his life as some cog in the military machine. Maybe he could disappear _before_ Maybourne called. He could just tell Jim that he had to go, had to start life again somewhere else. Or … or maybe he should just tell Jim about this. Hell, maybe Jim would help him fake his death and then at least … but would Jim go for that? No. No. That wouldn’t work. Jim would want to confront this bastard and take his chances with the media – or the summary order to report back for duty. No. He couldn’t ever tell Jim about this. He’d just have to disappear on his own.

As if reading his mind, Maybourne gave him a shark-like smile. “Remember, kid, I hold _all_ the cards. You fail to report, and I can still drop a dime to the media about your buddy, Ellison. I’m sure Lee, here, could give me lots of information that would be fascinating to them and the, uh, public. Either that or I just pull him in. It’s my call, not yours. I hope you won’t force my hand.”

Beaten, Blair sagged and swiped a hand across his eyes. He was so, so screwed.

But when Brackett laughed triumphantly and held his wrists toward the sergeant to have his cuffs removed, Blair stiffened angrily. “One condition,” he snapped, his gaze flashing to Maybourne. “If I do this, you have to keep him locked up. Otherwise, do your worst. Nobody can prove Jim is a sentinel and I’ll stick to my story that I lied about him. And, and if you try to pull Jim in, hell, I’ll go to the media myself and blow everything wide open. Might be a hassle for a while, but … but no way is avoiding future, possible risks worth letting Brackett go free. Jim would never forgive me for that even if I could forgive myself.”

Maybourne narrowed his eyes and hesitated, but didn’t give any indication of which way he was prepared to jump.

When the silence stretched, Brackett tensed, as if sensing his deal was going sour. “Come on!” Lee exclaimed furiously, rounding on Maybourne. “You’re not gonna let this sneaky little bastard ruin everything, are you? We had a deal!”

Maybourne pursed his lips, but still didn’t say anything.

God, bad enough to lose his own future, he could not compound it all by being party to turning Brackett loose on the world. So Blair forged on, pushing hard, “There’s no point in you trying to drag Jim back into the service to do this instead of me. _Especially_ not if I’m prepared to kick up a stink about it and, believe me, I would. You don’t need the bad press any more than we do. Brackett was right – it’s the guide who understands how all this stuff works. The sentinel … the sentinel is too busy using the senses to analyze why they work or how to make them work better. So, yeah, it’s me you need. But I will _not_ cooperate if you let this psychopath loose. Jim … Jim wouldn’t ever want that. Believe me, he’d rather take his chances with the media and with you. I _know_ that. So, so you either keep Brackett locked up or no deal. Jim and I will just have to figure out how to cope with the fallout.”

“How do I know you won’t pull that anyway?” Maybourne hedged, ignoring the enraged ex-CIA agent. When Blair didn’t answer immediately, he went on, “I know. How’s this. Since your point is that Ellison is useless to me anyway, I’ll keep Brackett locked up – but if you two-time me, I’ll let him go, providing he agrees to kill Ellison before he disappears.”

Oh God, oh God, he’d just allowed Maybourne to manipulate him and pull him in deeper. Shit! _Shit!_ “You wouldn’t do that,” Blair gabbled with harsh desperation, unable to hide his trepidation at the idea of Brackett being turned loose to kill Jim. “You don’t know if I’m lying to protect him or not. You don’t know for sure if all this ‘guide’ stuff is crap or not. You won’t kill Jim at least until you’re sure he isn’t of some use in your precious program.”

“You willing to bet his life on that?” Maybourne challenged.

“Screw me over on this, Sandburg, and I promise you, I’ll find a way to escape and I’ll go after your precious Naomi,” Lee cut in coldly. When Blair gaped at him in sick horror, he quickly added with careless insouciance, “Or you could just retract your little caveat and we can part friends.”

Maybourne interjected before Blair could answer, “Oh, Blair’s not going to renege on the deal now, are you, Blair?” Smirking he stood and pulled on his cap, settling it at a rakish angle. “Good call, kid. I really didn’t want to let this creep loose. Glad you gave me the excuse to toss him back inside and throw away the key.” He looked at the sergeant and jerked his head toward the door.

“You can’t do this!” Brackett yelled wildly when he was pulled to his feet. He dug in his heels, but the sergeant ruthlessly hauled him out of the loft. Over his shoulder, Lee shouted, “You better pray I never get free, Sandburg! I’ll take them both out, and then I’ll come after you!”

The sergeant slammed the door closed behind them, leaving Blair alone with Maybourne. Appalled, Blair realized all too clearly that he’d just made things infinitely worse. What were the odds of Brackett escaping? Terrified, he crossed his arms tightly against the glacial chill that enveloped him and penetrated to his bones. “You can’t ever let him out,” he panted. “Not ever.”

“Behave yourself and everything will be fine,” Maybourne assured him suavely.

Completely cowed, Blair nodded jerkily, but he continued to stare with wretched fear at the closed door, as if Lee could burst back in, or maybe the sergeant, yelling that Lee had gotten away. How had it come to this? How had everything gone so bad so fast? Brackett was brilliant. If he ever managed to escape, and he might. He might ….

His shattered attention was only marginally re-engaged when the colonel said briskly, “It’ll take me a month, maybe two, before I’m ready for you. In the meantime, you just carry on like everything is normal. If you tell anyone about our deal or fail to report, I’ll turn Brackett loose. Understood?”

Still staring blindly at the door, feeling dizzy and disoriented, quaking with boundless fear, Blair nodded numbly. “Yeah. Yeah, I understand.” But something snapped inside and fury ignited with a fierce burst. He wheeled fast and, shouting, “You sick bastard!” he drove his fist toward Maybourne’s face.

The colonel caught his arm and, the next thing he knew, Maybourne had spun him around and was twisting his arm up behind his back, pushing, pushing, until Blair had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out at the blinding agony. And still the colonel pushed, forcing Blair down to his knees. Only then did the pressure ease and the iron grip was released. Thoroughly intimidated, his body hunched, Blair cradled his arm to ease his aching shoulder.

“I’m glad you understand,” Maybourne replied evenly, as if the brief altercation hadn’t happened, and he turned away. Just before he left, he looked back over his shoulder and drawled, “Look on the bright side, kid. You’ll be spending your life doing your Uncle Sam a huge service. Not to mention helping all those sentinels out there be the best they can be.”

When the door clicked close, the shakes overwhelmed him. Blair covered his face and leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees. Tears scalded his eyes and he moaned and rocked in despair. God, oh God, oh God. His fractured thoughts whirled in chaotic panic. Maybe he _should_ tell Jim. There _had_ to be a way to stop this kind of blackmail. But could he risk that? Could he risk what it could cost Jim? Could he risk Maybourne acting on his threat to sic Brackett after Jim and his mother? Was his life worth risking theirs? Brackett … Brackett could and would kill them before they even knew he was free. Maybourne wasn’t bluffing. That sick sonofabitch would do whatever it took to get what he wanted. Oh, God. Because of him, they could die. If Brackett ever escaped prison, they _would_ die.

His stomach revolted and, gagging, he scrambled to his feet and staggered to the bathroom, barely making it before he started heaving. He retched until there was nothing left in his gut and dry heaves left him gasping. Trembling like a leaf, he splashed cold water on his face and braced himself against the sink as he fought for control.

When he could breathe, even if only raggedly, he stumbled to his room and crawled onto his bed. Curling tightly on his side, fists clenched, tears glazing his eyes, he vehemently and viciously cursed Maybourne and Brackett. And he cursed his mother for interfering with his life and screwing everything up. And then, sobbing for breath, he cursed Jim for being so stubborn and stupid, for believing he was a freak and reacting out of fear and distrust rather than ….

But his epithets died on his lips and, panting for breath, he swallowed the sobs of fury and despair. Rolling onto his back, he lifted his left arm over his face and pressed his eyes closed to blot out the day.

All the anger in the world wasn’t going to change anything.

Much as he might wish he could blame others for the mess he was in, he’d done this to himself.

Of his own free will, he’d taken every step along the path that had led him to this outcome. He’d chosen to search for sentinels, passionately believing in mythology that no one else credited. He’d agreed to keep Jim’s abilities secret because Jim had pointed out that the bad guys could use his senses against him. And, being brutally honest with himself, he had to admit that, initially, he’d liked the idea of keeping everything under wraps to safeguard his research. But, before long, he’d come to understand that it was about a whole lot more than getting a paper written or having some prestigious letters behind his name. Jim’s life was on the line every day and there was no way he ever wanted to add to the risks that already existed in spades. But he’d still written the paper and he’d put Jim’s name in it, which had been unconscionably careless.

As for his mother interfering in his life? He sighed and scrubbed at his face. He’d always indulged Naomi, had never drawn any lines with her because he hadn’t really had to. Normally, she just wasn’t around. He was basically free to live his life as he chose. So she breezed in for a few days, turned life upside down – so what? She’d never meant any harm. But if he’d insisted long ago that she see him as a man and not simply her darling son, then she might have respected his boundaries and none of this would ever have happened.

For all her foibles and maybe even because of them, he loved her. She was his mother and the only constant he’d ever known in his life. _Funny,_ he thought, staring up at the ceiling, _I always thought she’d be the one to just disappear from my life. What’s she going to do when I disappear from hers?_

His throat thickened and tears again blurred his eyes as the magnitude of Maybourne’s demands hit home. “Oh, God,” he moaned softly and pressed his fist against his lips to hold in the sob that threatened. For all intents and purposes, so far as anyone he loved was concerned, in a matter of months, maybe less, he’d be dead.

And he’d have nothing, absolutely nothing, left of the life he so dearly loved. “Ah, Jim,” he gusted, no longer able to stifle the sob that filled his chest.

 _…does Jimmy know how much you love him?’_

“No, he doesn’t,” Blair whispered brokenly as the tears leaked from his eyes. He thought he’d bought time and another chance with the press conference. And he’d hoped, even if he knew it was in vain, that someday, maybe ….

But, no, Jim didn’t know how he felt.

And now, he never would.

**

The emotional storm eventually passed, leaving Blair drained, dazed and feeling hollow. He couldn’t just lie there forever. He had to think. Pushing himself to his feet, he stumbled to the bathroom again to splash more water on his face. Avoiding his reflection in the mirror, he winced at the soreness of his shoulder when he lifted his arms to tie back his hair. And then he wandered unsteadily into the living room and sat down. Sightlessly, unaware of time passing, he stared out the windows and tried to wrap his head around the shambles of his life, but his thoughts were slow and sluggish. He felt as if he’d been physically beaten into the ground and yet oddly disassociated from everything, as if nothing was quite real. He had to get a grip. Forcing himself to concentrate, he tried hard to conjure meaning out of the dark and dismal emptiness in his mind.

Sentinels. It was all about sentinels.

For most of his life, all he’d wanted – and had felt driven to do – was to find a sentinel.

He’d found two.

One had murdered him.

And the other … the other ….

Despondently, he wrenched his thoughts away from Jim, and everything Jim meant to him.

Doggedly, he again tried to concentrate, to make some sense of it all, to find some way to make it all … something he could live with.

He’d searched for sentinels, right? Had wanted desperately to find them. Now, well, now he might be working with sentinels for the rest of his life.

He’d hoped, hadn’t he, that his dissertation might help other sentinels to understand what they were?

Even if they weren’t all full-blown sentinels, most, if not all, of the men and women Maybourne would send to him were probably suffering senses that were raging out of control.

The dissertation would never be published, would never help anyone.

Instead, he’d be training other sentinels, who knew how many, personally. That could be a good thing, right? Something useful to do with his life? Worthwhile?

Or would he just be training killers to kill more effectively?

Maybe he should have been more careful about what he’d wished for all these years.

Would they be as crazy as Alex or as selfless as Jim, natural predators or devoted protectors?

Guess he’d find out.

If they were like Jim, it would be a good thing, right? To help them? To teach them skills that might save their lives?

They were soldiers, like Jim had been. Even if they weren’t full-fledged sentinels, Maybourne was probably right about them having some enhanced sensory ability. Most of ‘em had to be pretty special, didn’t they? To dedicate their lives to the protection of the nation?

So, yes, supporting them, as best he could, would be worthy, meaningful work, the kind of work he’d once dreamed of having.

The kind of work he’d had with Jim. Exciting work. Work he’d loved.

Would he ever feel excited about anything again?

Hell, would he ever feel anything at all again? Anything other than this dull, relentless pain? And horror that Brackett might get loose and go after his mother and … and Jim.

They’d think he was dead.

He only had a few weeks left, just a few weeks ….

“Blair, what are you doing sitting in the dark? Blair?”

Naomi’s voice cut through the fog that surrounded him and he blinked, looked around, and saw that daylight had bled into dusk. He felt chilled and a shiver rippled over his skin.

“Blair?” she called again, turning on a lamp as she came into the living room. “Sweetie, are you alright?”

“Uh, yeah,” he mumbled as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Guess I fell asleep,” he fabricated to cover his dazed state.

Sitting beside him, she laid a hand on his arm. “Were you trying to meditate?”

His eyes downcast, he nodded slowly. “Guess you could call it that.”

“Blair … I’m worried about you,” she murmured, her voice full of concern. “I’m so sorry about everything.”

A fragile smile ghosted over his lips as he reflected that she had no idea how bad ‘everything’ really was. And she’d soon believe he was dead. Grief suffused him, but he couldn’t give way to it. He swallowed heavily and then took a deep breath. Lifting his head, he shifted toward her and draped his left arm around her shoulders to draw her into a hug. “I’m okay,” he said, and tenderly kissed her brow.

Her arms slipped around him. “Are you? Are you really?”

“Yes, Mom,” he assured her. “It’s been a tough time but ….”

What could he say? What could he _possibly_ say that might have meaning later when she remembered these moments? Feeling too battered to obfuscate credibly, he had no choice but to stick to the truth, and maybe that was enough. “All my dreams have come true,” he told her. “It’s been the most amazing adventure and Jim has become the best friend I’ll ever have. I really don’t care about the doctorate. It’s just a piece of paper. What matters is that … that I was able to help him when he needed it.”

Though it surprised him, laying it out for her with such simple honesty imposed rationality upon his ragged thinking and helped him feel better. Given bad choices, he was still only doing his best to protect Jim … and her. Despite his vain hope for another chance after the press conference, he’d known deep down that he couldn’t stay with Jim, that he’d have to leave. So what difference did it make, really, that Maybourne would be the one to say where he’d ultimately go? And maybe the colonel was right. Maybe it would be … kinder … if they all thought he was dead, rather than forever wonder what had happened to him. And Jim would be okay, right? Jim didn’t really need him anymore. Hadn’t needed him for a long time.

Drawing back a little to look into her eyes, he went on more strongly, “What’s a couple of weeks,” – _or even years and years, he thought achingly_ – “of bad stuff when it’s stacked up against a lifetime of wondrous memories, huh? And I don’t mean just the time I’ve spent with Jim. Mom, you – you gave me the world. You taught me how to open up my mind and to look beyond what most people see to … to the mysteries. I can’t ever thank you enough for all you’ve given me and your belief in me.” Smiling at her gently, he affirmed, “I know that _everything_ you’ve _ever_ done has been out of love. And that’s all that matters. So we’re okay.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes as she cupped his cheek. “I do love you, Blair,” she whispered tremulously.

“I know,” he said firmly as he again drew her close. “And I love you. Always have and always will.”

He felt the dampness of her tears through his shirt and closed his eyes. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry,” he pleaded, very afraid he was going to lose his tenuous control over his own emotions.

She sniffed and nodded. “What are you going to do? What’s going to happen to you now?”

God, he was so cold, as if he was freezing from the inside out. He drew a shuddering breath and managed a shaky chuckle. “Doesn’t matter,” he insisted as evenly as he could. “Whatever happens, I’m okay, Mom. I’m fine. The future will take care of itself.”

She sniffed again and sighed. “You’d like to keep being Jim’s partner at work, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, I would, but I don’t think that’s going to be possible. Too many complications,” he murmured wistfully, his throat tightening with tears he didn’t dare shed. “But … but I know he’ll be fine. He’s got great control now, so I don’t need to worry about him.”

Offering a bright smile, she patted his arm. “Who knows? Maybe something will work out.”

She’d offered the bromide with a forced cheerfulness that seemed bizarre to him, but he understood her need to believe there’d be some miracle, some ‘happily ever after’ solution. He used to believe the same thing. That anything was possible. That, somehow, things would work out.

When he didn’t say anything, she went on, “But, whatever you do, know that all I want is for you to be happy.”

Now that he believed without question, and he tightened his embrace. “I know that, Mom.”

When she sat back to dab at her still moist eyes, he wondered if there was anything more he could say that would help her in the months to come. And then it came to him, how he could maybe make sense of it in a way that would work for her, so that when she looked back on this night, she’d nod sadly but be able to accept his ‘death’ and move on. “You know, there’s something I didn’t tell you.”

When she looked up at him questioningly, he took her hand between his. “About six months ago, I found another person with senses like Jim’s.”

“Another sentinel?”

“No, no. She wasn’t a sentinel. Wasn’t someone who invested all she was into protecting others. She was exactly the opposite. She was selfish and cruel and more than a little crazy. She, uh, she thought I was a danger to her and she … she killed me.”

“What?” Naomi gasped, her eyes widening.

“She drowned me in the fountain outside my office at Rainier. Jim and the others, they found me there. And … and, Mom? I really was dead. But even after everyone else had given up, Jim didn’t. Somehow, he brought me back. Can you believe that?” He shook his head with remembered awe and looked away. “It would have been so awful to have everything end like that. So awful. Jim … Jim would have felt so guilty, for not being there to stop her. I’d’ve hated for everything to end that way, for him to feel bad, ‘cause it wasn’t his fault.” He shrugged and again met her eyes. “Jim and I, well, we’d had a big fight. I thought it was all over. Our friendship. Everything. But he came looking for me and he worked a miracle, Mom. And I’m so glad he did. Not just ‘cause I’m alive now but because we’d parted in such anger and … and now, no matter what the future holds, we’re friends again, and that means everything to me.”

“What happened to her? Is she … is she still out there somewhere?” she asked with fearful horror.

“Nah, Jim caught her, and she’ll never be a danger to anyone again,” he reassured her. “So don’t you worry about that.”

“Oh, Blair,” she exclaimed and hugged him fiercely. “I couldn’t bear to lose you!”

“Ah, Mom,” he sighed with a breaking heart, and closed his eyes. “Listen, listen to me. We can never know what will ever happen. That’s why we have to live our fullest every day. _You_ taught me that, and that’s how I’ve always tried to live my life.” He paused and went on slowly, “You know, in some ways, I’m glad the mess happened over the dissertation.”

“How you can say that?” she demanded, drawing back in astonishment.

“Well, for one thing, it’s brought you and me closer than we’ve been in years. And also because, no matter what the future holds, Jim knows now that he can trust me completely. That I’d _never_ willfully do anything to hurt him. And that’s important to me, ‘cause I’m not sure he really knew that before. The two of you are the people I love most. Mom, all I lost was a piece of paper. I have everything that really matters to me right here, right now.”

She sighed and took his hand. “Everything has a purpose, huh?”

He swallowed hard – could he still believe that? But he nodded. “Yeah. I believe that, I really do. And I know you believe that, too.”

She searched his face, his eyes, and then she nodded. “Yes,” she agreed. “Yes, I do. I guess I just forgot that, for a while.”

He cocked a brow and gave her a slow grin. “Well, you’re allowed,” he teased. “I mean, you’re getting older all the time, right? And older people are inclined to be forgetful.”

Laughing, she smacked him playfully. “I am not old!” she objected.

He tried to hold the grin but couldn’t. Studying her soberly, he said, “No, no, you’re not. You, Naomi Sandburg, have the soul of a child, full of wonder and belief in magic. I love that about you, Mom. I try my best to be like you, to never lose that sense of the possible or that awe in the majesty of creation. Our souls come to learn, right? To grow? To revel in the joy of life? And, where we can, to help others? And when it’s time, our souls return to the Universe until the next cycle begins. You taught me all that and I’m grateful you did. I really like the idea that this isn’t all there is. That we can look forward to learning and growing throughout all eternity. It’s a never-ending adventure, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I believe it is,” she replied with a warm smile as she squeezed his hand. “I’m glad you believe that, too.”

Nodding reflectively, he looked out into the gathering darkness and he thought about how those beliefs would sustain him in the months and years ahead. Everything happened for a purpose. Exhaling slowly, he tried to allow the peace of that thought to fill him. “Thanks, Mom,” he said, his voice soft.

They both settled back against the sofa and, entwining her fingers with his, she leaned her head on his shoulder. After a while, she asked, “Did you finish what had to be done today?”

“Uh huh,” he grunted. But, definitely not wanting to talk about his day, he redirected, “What about you? What did you do today?”

“I went to visit Jim and Simon,” she said. “Jim said the doctor signed the forms and he can come home tomorrow. And Simon is doing much better, too. I think he’s pushing it, but he also hopes to get out of the hospital tomorrow. They told me Megan went home this morning.”

“Good. I’m glad everyone is recovering so well. Could’ve been a lot worse.”

“They seemed … worried about you,” she went on. “And surprised, that you hadn’t gone in to see them today. I … I told him that you were clearing out your office. But, maybe after dinner, you’d like to go?”

He shook his head. He didn’t dare get anywhere near Jim until he was in a whole lot better shape than he was now. He might be able to fool his mother but he wouldn’t be able to hide from his friend’s senses and Jim would know something was badly wrong. “Nah, I’m kinda wiped out. I’ll just call him later to see what time I should pick him up in the morning.”

“Blair, I think you and Jim need some time to, I don’t know – reconnect? So, before I went to the hospital, I made my flight arrangements. I’m going back to L.A. tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to go, Mom,” he told her, his need for space and peace warring with the sharp awareness that he’d never see her again. It took all he had to keep his voice steady, to not give way to grief. “Jim and I are fine.”

“I know, sweetie, but I think it’s best.”

He tightened his grip on her hand as he struggled with the knowledge that this was the last evening they’d have together, and she rested her head on his shoulder again. A lump filled his throat, and he had to swallow hard before he replied, “Okay. I’ll … I’ll take you out to the airport.”

“No, that’s alright. I have to go around the same time that you’ll be picking up Jim, so I’ll just take a taxi. I said my good-byes to him this afternoon.”

He sighed but didn’t protest any further. The sorrow that filled him was too great, and he was afraid he’d lose it completely. It was easier to let the silence fall between them again. Tilting his head back against the cushion, he closed his eyes. Though he’d managed to pull himself together to say all he needed to say to her, his thoughts were fragmenting again, spinning away. Maybe it was a good thing she was leaving. He wasn’t sure he could keep up the charade that everything was fine. God, how was he ever going to hide the truth from Jim? For _weeks_? One day at a time. He could only do it one day at a time.

“You’re exhausted,” she said as she lifted her head. “Tell you what. Why don’t I make something light for dinner? Soup, maybe? And then you can call it an early night. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like a plan,” he agreed as he straightened, though the thought of food was nauseating. He shoved himself to his feet and offered her a hand up. “While you’re doing that, I’ll give Jim a call.”

Taking a steadying breath, he punched in the number for the hospital and asked for the extension to Jim’s room. “Hey, man, I hear I can break you out of there in the morning.”

 _“Yeah, and none too soon. I’m going stir-crazy in here.”_

“What time would be good?”

 _“Anytime after ten,”_ Jim told him.

“That works,” he agreed. Shoving his hair back from his face, he added, “I think I’ll drop by the PD first, turn in my observer badge.”

 _“Oh, yeah? Okay, sure. Makes sense. So, how’re you doing? Naomi said you were cleaning out your office today.”_

For a moment, Blair couldn’t seem to form any words. Jim … Jim hadn’t reacted at all to knowing he was turning in the badge. Like, like he didn’t care. Like it wasn’t important. Treacherous tears stung his eyes. _Dammit, get a grip!_ he ordered himself. What did it matter? Better this way, that Jim didn’t care, right? Not like he’d be hanging around Cascade for long anyway. His heart twisted and then he realized he’d lost the thread of the conversation. Something about the university. Clearing out his office. God, all that seemed a lifetime ago. “Yeah,” he sighed, tired to the bone. “I’m, uh, okay.”

 _“You don’t sound ‘okay’, Chief. You sound … wrung out.”_

“Well, it took most of the day to clear everything out and move stuff that I’m keeping back here. Guess I’m just tired.” Fighting to keep his voice steady, he swallowed. “It was, was a big part of my life for a long time, man. Hard to, you know, walk away from everything.” His voice cracked and he knew he had to get out of the conversation before he lost it. “But, seriously, I’m good with it. No regrets.”

 _“Okay, Chief, I understand,”_ Jim replied, sounding sad. Before Blair could say anything, he continued with a more upbeat tone, _“Get some rest. I’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”_

“Me, too,” Blair affirmed. “‘Night, Jim.”

During their meal, to distract himself from thoughts about the future, he reminisced about some of his happiest memories with Naomi and was achingly pleased to see her sparkle again with laughter.

Later, he lay on the couch and listened to her packing in his room. His fingers curled into fists as he fought the surge of emotion that threatened to swamp him. Staring at the ceiling, he painstakingly built mental walls against all thought, all emotion, until his mind was blank except for the mantra he chanted to himself. _There’s always a reason. There’s always a reason._

Though he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, he finally drifted off a few hours before dawn.

**

The next morning, carrying her bags, Blair followed Naomi downstairs to the taxi. But when the time came to say ‘good-bye’, he couldn’t force the words past his throat. Instead, he hugged her and held her close. “I love you,” he said huskily. “Stay safe, Mom … and happy. Okay?”

She cupped his face and kissed his cheek. “You, too, sweetie,” she replied with a wide smile. “I’ll see you again soon.”

Unable to do more than nod, feeling utterly bereft, he helped her into the cab and watched as it pulled away. And then, swiping tears from his eyes, he got into his car. He had to keep going, had to do everything that he would have done if Maybourne had never come into his life. That meant moving forward with closure from the PD. He’d told Jim the night before what he planned to do before going to the hospital. Jim hadn’t fought him on it – hadn’t objected at all. And that was just one more ache to layer in with all the rest. Even if Maybourne hadn’t blown his life apart, his time as Jim’s partner was over. And Jim didn’t seem to care. How sad was it, he wondered dully, that that had become a good thing?

Numb with grief and the need to distance himself emotionally from reality, he pulled out of his parking spot and headed downtown. There was just time enough to turn in his observer’s badge before he went to get Jim.

**

Studying the floor of the elevator, Blair spared himself the risk of seeing contempt in the eyes of all those he encountered on the way to MCU. Nobody spoke to him. Once he was noticed in the elevator, nobody spoke at all, and the silence was deafening.

Exiting the car, he strode swiftly along the hall and into the bullpen. Rhonda was on the phone and didn’t look up as he passed her on his way to Simon’s office. Taggart and Brown appeared to be deep in discussion and he hoped they hadn’t noticed him, either. He’d say good-bye to all them on his way out but, with the excuse of having to hurry to the hospital, he hoped to keep the exchanges brief. He felt too battered to sustain the pretence that everything was fine or to handle awkward conversations. He suspected that Jim’s colleagues in MCU had probably figured out what was truth and what was fiction, even if the majority of the rest of the PD no doubt accepted the press conference at face value. But he didn’t want to be put in the position of tacitly confirming or denying anything. He just wanted to drop off his observer’s badge and leave as quickly as he could.

When he entered the inner office, years of memories assailed him. Slowing as he approached the desk, he could so easily picture Simon sitting there, pouring them coffee or fiddling with an unlit cigar. Instead of silence, in his mind he heard the shouting and anger of the last few weeks and months. But he didn’t want to dwell on those memories, so he pushed his thoughts farther back to a time when they’d all worked well together, when they were more inclined to laugh – and to the rare and treasured moments when Simon had told him he’d made a real difference.

He could see Jim leaning against the window ledge and, as he moved closer to touch the surface, he felt detached, oddly remote, as if he was locked in a dream where nothing was real. Turning, he looked at the table where he’d so often perched, and the chair, where Jim had sat during their discussions with Simon. He’d wanted it all to go on and on, without end. But nothing ever lasted forever. He’d always known that … but, over the years, he’d somehow forgotten the lesson he’d learned so early in life.

Sorrowfully, he lifted the chain over his head and laid his observer badge on the desk. He stood there for a moment, staring at the pass and wishing things had turned out differently. But he couldn’t linger. Jim would be waiting for him.

“Blair? Whatcha doin’ in here?” Joel asked behind him.

Doing his best to swallow his pain, he turned to explain. They were still talking when Simon’s bellow startled him. Looking past Joel, he could scarcely believe his eyes when he saw Simon and Jim crossing the office, Rafe pushing Simon’s wheelchair, Jim leaning on a cane. Megan was there, too, her arm in a sling. What the hell was going on? Henri and Rhonda crowded around them and there were others, too, who hadn’t been in the bullpen a few minutes before. God. He’d hoped to get in and out with no fuss but, instead, he had to face all of them at once, like some kind of torturous gauntlet.

He tried to sound glad to see them. And he was, insofar as being relieved to see his three friends out of the hospital. But when he spoke, he knew his voice betrayed his confusion and fragility. Oh, God, his mother was there, too! She was supposed to be on her way to the airport – what was she doing here? He hugged her and tried to understand, but her words made no sense. She didn’t want to miss this? Miss what? The end of everything that mattered to him? Jim was solemnly telling him that his days as an observer were over. Yeah, right, like he didn’t know that already.

But then Jim threw something at him and, off-balance, he caught it awkwardly.

His confusion grew when he opened the thin black wallet and saw the gold detective’s shield. Anguish lanced through his chest at what might have been. He didn’t understand. Why were they here? He didn’t deserve the badge, he knew that. And he couldn’t hope he ever would, not after the press conference. His bewildered hurt at the expectant looks on their faces only deepened when Simon abruptly growled at him and snatched the badge from his hands.

But then Simon’s words took his breath away. He had to lock his knees to keep from staggering in shock.

Be Jim’s official partner? Were they kidding? No, no, they weren’t cruel people. They wouldn’t tease and torment him like this, would they? He looked around and they all looked so happy, so hopeful. He couldn’t take it in. How could Simon make such an offer? How could anyone in the PD or the DA’s office ever accept him after everything that had happened? But the offer was sincere, he could see that in all their faces.

For a split second, he felt a profound rush of hope and relief. Jim wanted him to stay! He didn’t have to go! He could continue working with Jim!

Then he remembered Maybourne, and despair again suffused him. But he couldn’t let them see that. No one could ever know.

 _Fake it!_ he ordered himself, and made a crack about being paid and added that he still wasn’t going to cut his hair. Well, that was the truth. He wouldn’t ever go to the Academy or be a cop.

Jim looked so pleased, like a kid on Christmas morning, and everyone else was cheering and laughing, so he smiled and hoped it looked sincere. Shaky, sure, but they could write that off to the surprise and simply think him overwhelmed. Jim grabbed him to roughhouse playfully, and the others started singing.

He felt as if the world had gone mad. Gasping for breath, he was glad to hide his face against Jim’s chest and to lean into his friend’s grip as he struggled for control.

By the time he pretended to fight his way free of Jim’s embrace, he had his game face firmly in place. He wouldn’t ever carry that badge, but none of them needed to know that. Not when they’d gone out of their way to let him know he was wanted. Fervently hoping no one would see beyond the smile he plastered on his face, he reached out to shake Simon’s hand and thanked him profusely for giving him the chance to join the team permanently. Looking around, he thanked them all for their friendship and support, telling them in all honesty how very much they all meant to him.

His mother hugged him again, hard and fast. Though her smile was a bit brittle around the edges, she appeared determined to be happy for him, and he remembered their conversation the evening before. Seemed he hadn’t been the only one with a hidden agenda at the time – Naomi had to have known last night that this was going to happen. She’d said she only wanted him to be happy, and she said the same thing again. He knew she had to hate the idea that he’d become a cop, but she was there, to cheer him on because she knew how much the chance to keep working with Jim meant to him. That she was trying so hard to support what she knew he most wanted filled him with such poignant love for her that he was almost undone. But then she kissed his cheek and, hurriedly explaining that her cab was waiting, she hastened away before he could think of anything to say. Struck by her bravery and generosity of spirit, he smiled sadly as he watched her go. At least she was carrying away a good memory of him surrounded by his friends and being offered the only job he really wanted. In the midst of the shattered chaos of his life, he was very grateful for that.

The others crowded around him, slapping him on the shoulder and shaking his hand. Megan pulled him into a hug, and he was careful of her shoulder. Simon growled that he supposed some of them should go home to finish recovering from their injuries and that it was high time the rest of them got back to work.

“I’m real glad to know you’ll be staying with us,” Joel said warmly before returning to his duties.

“Thanks, man. I really appreciate that.”

“Classes at the Academy won’t start for six weeks, Blair,” Simon told him with mock gruffness. “So you’ve got some time off. Make the most of it because rookies pull all the holidays.”

“I will,” he replied, managing a small smile. “And thanks again. I don’t know how you pulled this off, but I won’t ever forget it.”

“Vested interest,” Simon said with a wolfish grin. “We’ve spent nearly four years training you – doesn’t make sense to waste all that effort.”

Blair forced a laugh and nodded. Jim gripped his shoulder. “Guess we should be heading home, Chief. I need to get off this leg.”

“Yeah, sure,” he agreed with alacrity, feeling pathetically grateful to have the chance to escape before he fell apart completely. “My car’s in the garage.”

Blair shepherded the wounded out of the bullpen, Rafe again pushing Simon’s chair. Jim had left his carryall by the door, and Blair picked it up on the way by. The elevator ride was far more rowdy and cheerful than the one less than an hour before had been. Though he felt as if his face might crack, Blair kept smiling and joking until Megan, Rafe and Simon got off on the ground floor to take taxis home, while he and Jim continued to the basement.

Jim looped an arm around his shoulders. “Guess we surprised you, huh?”

“Oh, yeah, man. Big time. I never expected anything like this,” he gusted.

“Why wouldn’t you expect it?” Jim demanded, sounding genuinely puzzled. “Surely you didn’t think we’d leave you hanging in the wind?”

“Jim, I’m grateful, I really am. But I have no idea how Simon got this approved – or how it will play out in the rest of the PD,” he babbled, desperate to keep Jim from sensing his despair. “After that press conference, this is the last thing I would have expected. It’s not like you guys owe me anything – and, and ….”

Blair stopped himself. It didn’t matter that he had no credibility or that others on the force would probably resent having him around; that was never going to happen. But, for Jim’s sake, it was best to pretend it would and go on from there. “But it’s great,” he concluded, wishing he could sound as happy as he should be, would have been, if only … if only.

“So you’re okay with it?” Jim asked, studying him, as the elevator doors opened.

“Better, much better, than ‘okay’, man,” he insisted as he hurried ahead to hold open the heavy door for his friend. Again taking refuge in the truth, he stated firmly as he waved Jim into the garage, “All I want is to keep working with you. That’s all I’ve wanted for a long time now.”

Jim’s too-perceptive gaze swept over him, and a small frown puckered his friend’s brow, as if he was picking up on something that confused him. _Probably my racing heart – or maybe the scent of fear,_ Blair thought as they walked toward his car. He helped Jim inside and then tossed the bag in the trunk.

“How’re your dials?” he asked to re-direct Jim’s attention as he slipped in behind the wheel and started up the engine.

Jim’s questioning gaze again flicked over him, but then he sat back and closed his eyes. Before Blair had steered out of the garage and onto the street, some of the lines around Jim’s mouth and eyes began to ease.

“Good, that’s good,” Blair murmured and then asked, “Do you have pain meds with you, or a prescription we should get filled?”

“I took care of that at the hospital before I left,” Jim replied as he absentmindedly massaged his leg. Once again, he scanned Blair with troubled eyes and, as the slight tilt of his head indicated, his hearing as well. “You okay, Chief? You look like you haven’t slept in a month of Sundays.”

“Yeah, well, the last couple weeks haven’t been a cakewalk,” he said with a shrug. “I’m okay. After what just went down? I’m a whole lot better than I was, I can tell you that. I didn’t think there was any way that I could keep working with you, you know?”

“Why the hell not?”

“Ah, come on, Jim,” Blair replied with a quick glance at his friend, “after I trashed my credibility and made claims to being a liar, cheat and fraud on national television, I kinda thought there might be a few problems. You know, with acceptance by other cops who might not think I belong there anymore?”

Belatedly realizing he’d just opened a conversation that he hadn’t wanted to get into and which was pointless anyway, wishing he’d just kept his mouth shut, Blair’s lips thinned and he shook his head. Now Jim would be worrying about stuff that wasn’t an issue. On the other hand, he thought then, apparent concerns about acceptance could be a good cover for any nervousness or uncertainty he was bound to exhibit over the next few weeks. Resolutely, he avoided Jim’s gaze and focused on his driving.

Jim grimaced and, finally looking away to watch the street, he sighed. “Quite a few didn’t think you belonged there for the last four years,” he muttered with a shrug of obvious indifference. “Who cares what anyone else thinks?”

“Are you kidding? Okay, so up until now it never mattered because I wasn’t a cop. But now what they think does matter, because if I’m a cop, they can’t just write me off as a weirdo and ignore me,” Blair replied, deciding to go with the distraction the subterfuge offered. “Only it could be even worse now,” he argued further. “What if they decide a liar and fraud doesn’t belong on the force, huh? Let alone a sweet slot as a detective? What if they drag their heels when we need backup? That could be a major problem, Jim. Anyway, you can see why I was surprised by Simon’s offer. I still don’t understand how he arranged approval to get me into the Academy, let alone fast-track me into a detective slot in MCU.” Blair paused and then figured he may as well go for broke and lay out all the hurdles. “And I’d think the DA will have concerns if I ever have to take the witness stand. Can you imagine the cross-examination by the defense attorneys? Not a pretty picture.”

Jim crossed his arms and his face creased in concern. “You’ve been giving this a lot of thought,” he observed.

“Like I say, I _want_ to be your partner, so yeah, I’ve done a lot of thinking about the possible obstacles,” Blair admitted. It had been about all he’d been able to think about – until Maybourne had barged into his life and made all those worries redundant.

“Simon had to tell the Commissioner and the Chief the truth in order to get the go-ahead,” Jim revealed then. “Maybe he needs to talk to the DA, too.”

“Or maybe we just work things so that you’re the officer of record, at least for a while, like the first year or so, until all this is just old news,” Blair suggested quickly, not wanting any more people than necessary brought into the know, not when there was no point to it. “I’m sorry, Jim, that Simon had to do that. Would’ve been better if we could have kept it all between the three of us.” When Jim didn’t say anything, he went on, “As for the credibility thing with other cops, I guess that’s just a matter of time. They’ll get used to having me around, and if I do a good job, they’ll stop worrying about whether I belong there or not. I’m, uh, more concerned about whether they’ll all start wondering why you and Simon would deign to still have me around after I very publicly admitted to telling such lies about you to further my own interests.”

Jim nodded slowly, but it was clear he was preoccupied. His jaw clenched and his posture tightened, revealing tension and a resistance to whatever he was mulling over. “Maybe I should just come clean and be done with it,” he grated.

“No,” Blair retorted, appalled that, in trying to distract Jim, he might have pushed Jim into doing something disastrous. “Bad, very bad idea, man. The _last_ thing I want is for the bad guys to think they might have an edge if they flash a few bright lights or set off a shrill alarm, or some damned thing. No, no way can you risk saying _anything_ to anybody else. Too many people know already. Even if you’re willing to take such risk, I most assuredly am not. So, no. Let’s just play it out and see how it goes.”

When Jim still looked unconvinced, though Blair hated to use guilt, he cajoled, “Jim, man, if you say anything now, then … then what was the point of what I did, huh? Talk about looking like a class-A idiot, babbling about being a fraud, about lying – for what? Jim, I did what I did in part because it was the right thing to do, the principled thing to do. But mostly I did it for you. To keep you safe. Don’t … don’t make a mockery out of that.”

Jim’s lips thinned, and the muscle in his jaw twitched, but his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Here I thought the major issue would be convincing you to carry a weapon,” he grumbled.

Grateful to know that his friend had thought about that, Blair flashed him a smile as he replied, “Can’t say the idea thrills me much. But it’s not like I haven’t held a gun before or shot one with intent. Hell,” he went on with a small chuckle, “you handed me your weapon to guard Veronica Sarris the first time we worked together.” Sobering, he revealed, “And a few weeks ago, when you were trying to stop Kincaid and his goons from getting away on that sub? I wasn’t shooting over their heads, Jim. I may not have hit anyone, which just goes to prove that I need training, but … I was aiming at them.”

“I didn’t know that,” Jim said quietly, as he turned to study Blair.

“Yeah, well, they would have killed you and the rest of us if we hadn’t’ve stopped them,” Blair muttered. “Sure, I prefer peaceful solutions; I know you do, too. But, over the years, I’ve come to understand that there are times when force _is_ necessary. Sometimes, these guys just don’t leave any other choice.”

Jim’s gaze dropped away and, chewing on his lip, he lapsed into silence for the rest of the drive. Blair cast him sidelong looks and regretted having laid it on so thick. Sure, he wanted to distract Jim, give him a reason for the anxiety or whatever else Blair knew he was likely to let slip in the next several weeks, but he hadn’t wanted to so completely chase away the happiness he’d seen on Jim’s face when he’d pretended to accept the offer they were making. God, this was hard. So hard.

When they got home, Blair parked in front of the building and turned to face Jim. “I’m sorry, man,” he said. “I didn’t mean to bring up all that shit about the fact that what you and Simon arranged isn’t, uh, perfect. Sure there’ll be some stuff to deal with but … but in the larger scheme of things, that’s no big deal. I’m just really glad to know that you want me to keep working with you. The rest is just noise. Seriously, there’s nothing for you to worry about here, okay?”

His gaze narrow, Jim searched his eyes. But then he turned away without saying anything and popped the door open.

“Hold on, I’ll give you a hand,” Blair urged as he got out, retrieved Jim’s bag and then hastened around to help his friend, who was determinedly trying to extricate himself from the low vehicle. “Damn it, Jim – you’re going to rip out your stitches!” He helped his friend ease his injured leg out of the car and, getting a solid grip under Jim’s arm, levered him upright. When Jim hissed at the pain as he stood, Blair slid closer and put an arm around his waist. “Lean on me,” he offered quietly.

Jim nodded grudgingly and looped an arm around his shoulders. Slowly, they made their way inside and both huffed sighs of relief to see the recalcitrant elevator was working for once.

When they entered the apartment, Blair helped Jim out of his coat before shrugging off his own. But when he moved to assist Jim to the couch, Ellison waved him off. “I can manage,” he insisted.

“Okay, fine,” Blair agreed, lifting his hands as he backed off. “You want something to drink?”

“Yeah, coffee’d be good.”

“You got it,” he said as he headed into the kitchen. When Jim hobbled along in his wake, he looked back over his shoulder. “I can handle it, man. Go, sit, take a load off that leg.”

“In a minute, Chief,” Jim replied, sounding uncertain.

Which piqued Blair’s attention. “Okay, out with it,” he ordered as he filled the coffee pot. “You’ve been chewing on something for the past fifteen minutes or so. What’s bothering you?”

When Jim didn’t answer, Blair glanced at him as he shifted to fill the coffeemaker. Jim had come up behind him and, leaning against the island, he was studying the floor.

“Look, if it’s about what I said in the car, about credibility and all that stuff, I told you not to worry about it,” Blair said firmly as he poured the water and then reached into the cupboard for the coffee. “We’ll work it out.”

“No, no, it’s not that – but, yeah, maybe we need to talk about that, too,” Jim replied, and the uncertainty had given way to awkwardness. “I just … there’s something I should have told you, something you should know.”

Puzzled, Blair paused in the spooning of coffee into the filter. “Uh huh,” he encouraged as he looked at Jim – and froze at the helpless, lost look on his friend’s face. Hastily setting down the coffee bag and the spoon, he turned to grip Jim’s arm. “Geez, how bad can it be? Are you okay? Is the pain that bad? Would you spit it out, already? You’re beginning to scare me here.”

Lifting a hand, Jim shook his head. “No, I’m fine. It’s just that this isn’t easy to say. I’m not sure how you’ll take it but, but you need to know. Might change your decision about accepting the badge. Chief, Blair – I want you to be my partner.”

Blair blinked and, tilting his head a little, he squinted at Jim. “Uh … I think I got that part. When Simon offered me the job? Am I missing something? You don’t think I accepted just because I don’t have a lot of choices right now, do you? Because I do, have choices, I mean. Or, did you think I’d think you were just feeling sorry for me? That didn’t occur to me, actually. That isn’t what the offer was about, was it? Because you don’t owe me anything. But I am _really_ glad to know this is what you want, too.”

“Sandburg, will you just shut up and let me talk?” Jim appealed, sounding a little strangled.

“So, talk. Who’s stopping you?” Blair urged, and he stepped back to give Jim space.

Jim gave him a frustrated look and sighed. “You might not want to be my partner when you hear this.”

“Hear what?” Blair exclaimed in frustration. “You haven’t said anything yet.”

“I wasn’t talking about work.”

“When?”

“When I said I want you to be my partner.”

“Okay, _now_ I’m officially confused,” Blair complained with a frown as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the kitchen counter. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Yeah, I can see why you would be – confused, I mean,” Jim sighed. His lips thinned and he shook his head as he looked around the kitchen as if seeking inspiration. Taking a breath, he met Blair’s gaze and held out a hand that implored understanding. “I never said anything because I was sure that … that you’d leave someday, when the dissertation was finished, and I didn’t want to wreck whatever friendship we could still have or … or ….” His voice petered out and his gaze dropped. “Anyway, when you gave that press conference, I ….” His voice again fell away and he rubbed his mouth. “God, this is hard. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me.” Straightening, pale with intensity, he looked up at Blair, something very like fear in his eyes. “I couldn’t take that. But you deserve to know the truth.”

“Jim, are you trying to tell me you want me to move out?” Blair asked uneasily as he tried to make the disjointed phrases fit into some kind of pattern that made sense. Man, how long had Jim wanted him out of the loft? And why beat around the bush, and why that scary look of fear in his eyes? Jim didn’t owe him a roof over his head. “I know I’ve seriously overstayed the week you originally gave me. If you’re tired of having me underfoot, just say so. I’m sorry. I just thought things were going good. Well, maybe not lately, but generally –”

“No, I’m not saying that! I don’t want you to move out,” Jim cut in. He reached out, as if intending to grip Blair’s arm, but then pulled back with disjointed abruptness. A faint blush stole over his cheeks as he added with a rush, “I don’t ever want you to move out.”

 _Never move out? Partner? Not work?_ Very confused, Blair played back over everything Jim had said, and then his eyes widened and the breath caught in his chest as another possibility occurred to him. “Jim, are you saying ….” But he couldn’t ask, didn’t dare tread over that ground in case he was completely wrong. “ _What_ are you trying to say?”

“I don’t know how it happened,” Jim rambled on, looking everywhere but at him. “One minute, we’re friends and the next …. I know you’ll think I’m crazy and I don’t expect anything, but I really think you should know, in case it makes a difference. In case … in case it’s not just me. I mean, in case I’m not the only one. I hope I’m not the only one.”

“The only one …?” Blair prompted as he tried to keep breathing; tried not to hope too much. He was probably completely off-base. Jim _couldn’t_ be saying what it sounded like he was saying. Could he? What if he was? Oh, God, Maybourne would be calling in a month, maybe less. What if Jim was saying … what would he do then?

“The only one who fell in love along the way,” Jim admitted hoarsely. His gaze searched Blair’s and there was so much hope and fear and vulnerability all mingling in his eyes as he waited for Blair’s response, that Blair just wanted to hold him close but he couldn’t, he couldn’t. He needed to think.

 _Loves me? He loves me?_

All Blair could do was gape at him as his mind raced. His heart pounded, and he couldn’t seem to breathe. Jubilant elation crashed into abject despair, leaving him frozen, unable to move and scarcely able to think. Why now? When it was too late? Damn it! Why _now_?

Finally forcing himself to break eye contact, floundering badly and certain he should pretend that he didn’t feel the same way, he turned his back to lean his hands on the counter to hide their trembling, and so Jim couldn’t see his face. How could he begin something that he knew couldn’t last? God, how devastating would that be, for both of them? His throat thickened and he had to blink hard and fast to clear his eyes.

But how could he deny his own feelings, pretend that Jim’s words didn’t mean _everything_ to him? How could he refuse what was being offered, even if it could only be for such a short time? Didn’t they deserve some happiness together? Hell, the work they’d done over the years was dangerous and would have been even more so if he was a full-fledged cop, which Jim still thought was going to happen. There were never any guarantees in life. Nobody got a hundred-year warranty of either longevity or satisfaction. Even if he didn’t know he was leaving, so far as Jim knew either one of them could be killed on the job. Was that why Jim had decided to tell him? In case something bad happened? And they ran out of time? Closing his eyes, pressing his lips together to still their trembling, he shook his head at the thought that Jim might be worried about that. Ah, God, could this get any harder?

Lifting his head to look over his shoulder, his gaze sought Jim’s as he debated what would hurt Jim – and himself – least. To have this time and have it end too soon, or to never acknowledge his feelings and let Jim think he was dead without ever knowing? To have memories or only regrets?

As the silence between them lengthened, Jim’s gaze dropped and, his shoulders slumping, he began to turn away. Blair whirled to grab his arms and hold him in place. Jim tried to shrug him off, but Blair wouldn’t let go.

 _Decide!_ he ordered himself.

“It’s okay, Chief,” Jim offered awkwardly, avoiding his eyes. “You don’t have to say anything. I just thought you should know. I hope … I hope this doesn’t have to change anything.”

The defeat and hurt in Jim’s voice and stance did the deciding for him. Whether they had a day or a week or a month, he _couldn’t_ let Jim believe he wasn’t loved passionately in return.

Moving closer, Blair replied huskily, “It changes everything.” He cupped Jim’s face and forced his friend to look at him. And then, still gripping one arm to hold Jim steady, he drew Jim’s head down. He saw despair lighten into puzzlement and then the dawning of joy in Jim’s eyes. Blair smiled just before their lips met – and he kissed Jim as he had longed to kiss him, deeply, with all the hunger in his soul.

With a low moan, Jim embraced him and drew him closer still, until they were pressed together, plundering one another’s mouths. Their hands began to roam, first to stroke and caress, and then to explore more boldly, pulling up shirts to caress hot skin. Jim nuzzled Blair’s ear and Blair delicately licked the pulse point in Jim’s throat, which sent a shudder rippling through Jim’s body. Murmuring low, inarticulate encouragement, they were lost in one another, in the taste and touch and the miracle of discovering the urgent love they shared – until Jim shifted and his bad leg gave out. With a muttered oath, he nearly fell, their embrace all that kept him upright.

“Oh, man, I’m an idiot,” Blair exclaimed as he changed his stance and grip to give Jim more certain support. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. We need to get you off that leg.”

With a rough laugh, Jim agreed. “Your bed?” he suggested hopefully. “I don’t think I can make it upstairs.”

“My bed,” Blair affirmed with alacrity.

Jim leaned on him heavily for the short hop along the hall and through the French doors. Blair guided him to the bed but, before easing him down, he loosened Jim’s belt and jeans, freeing his partner’s erection. “You sure look happy to see me,” he teased as he pushed the clothing down over his partner’s hips and settled Jim on the side of the bed.

“Oh yeah, big time,” Jim drawled.

“Big being the operative word here,” Blair returned, impressed, as he eagerly knelt to slip Jim’s shoes, socks and, careful of the bandage, pants all the way off, while Jim divested himself of his pullover and undershirt. Remaining on his knees, his hands on Jim’s thighs, Blair admired the lean, well-muscled body before him. “Oh, man,” he breathed in reverence. “You are … awesome.” Looking up into Jim’s warm gaze, he felt overwhelmed by the gift Jim was giving him, and he hoped his joy danced in his eyes the way it was boogying in his heart and belly. “Achilles could not have been more beautiful, nor Alexander.” A smile curved his lips when the blush on Jim’s cheeks deepened, and he was delighted by the flustered humility mingling with pleasure on his partner’s face. “Such magnificence deserves the proper homage.”

Bending forward, he blew a soft stream of hot air over the swollen tip of the engorged penis that rose toward him, and he felt Jim shiver under his hands even as his newest and last lover moaned and burrowed fingers in his hair to clasp his scalp. “Turn it down, Jim,” he whispered huskily. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He glanced up to ensure Jim was paying attention, and when Jim nodded, he lowered his head and delicately licked … and licked.

“You’re killing me, Chief,” Jim rasped.

Blair was still chuckling, low in his throat, when he took Jim deep – and the guttural gasp he got, the clenching fingers that dug into his skin, let him know that the vibrations of his laughter were a sensation that Jim had never experienced before.

And he was only just beginning to give pleasure beyond the like of any Jim had ever known.

For no one else could know how to love his sentinel as he did.

Ah, it was going to be so _fantastic_ to put all his knowledge about Jim’s senses to such delicious use, to love the man thoroughly for each and every day they had together, as if each day might well be the last.

For a searing moment, his immense, burgeoning happiness smashed hard into a wall of devastating sorrow. But then he banished all thoughts of the future and focused only on the ecstasy of the moment. There would be time enough to grieve … for now, there was only the bliss of touch and taste, of scent and the sound of Jim’s escalating passion for him. For now, there was only love.

Jim came hard, and Blair savored the bitter nectar that spurted convulsively into his throat. Straightening, he eased Jim down and lifted his lover’s legs onto the bed before languidly laving his partner clean, while relishing the sensuous sensations of Jim slowly combing fingers through his hair.

“C’mere,” Jim murmured drowsily.

Shucking his clothing, Blair crawled onto the bed and drew the sheet over them before nestling in the crook of Jim’s arm, his ear pressed against his lover’s chest so he could Jim’s strong heart beating. He’d never heard that before. Had never been close enough before. Closing his eyes, lying skin to skin, he listened hard to the precious sound, imprinting it, so that he’d always remember. Always.

“I love you,” he whispered brokenly. “I love you so much.”

“Thank God for that,” Jim rumbled as he wrapped his arms around Blair, holding him tight as he pressed his face into Blair’s hair. “What about you?” he asked drowsily, his hand stroking down to Blair’s flank.

“‘m good for now,” Blair replied quietly. “Sleep, man. Just sleep.”

When Jim drifted off, Blair listened to his partner’s soft snoring and the steady drumming of his heart. A lump filled his throat but he refused to give way to the tears that burned in his eyes. This was too good. Just this. Being here, wrapped in Jim’s warmth. It was all too amazing and wonderful to sully these fragile, fleeting moments with any other thoughts or emotions.

He was going to hold onto the ‘now’ as hard as he could … for as long as he could.

And then he’d live it all again and again, over and over, in his memories.

For the rest of his life.

**

Jim woke to the sounds of rain pattering against the windows and plopping into puddles on the lane below, and the soft snuffling snores of his lover. Gray light filtered in through the glass and he wondered what time it was, but decided he didn’t care. Breathing deeply, he savored Blair’s scent and his partner’s solid warmth half-sprawled over his body. Tenderly, he ran his fingers through the wild, silken curls and thought about the love they’d made during the preceding day and night.

He couldn’t remember when he’d last felt so at peace with the world or so happy with his life.

He felt whole.

Even his senses, which he’d long accepted as useful for work and occasionally enjoyable, seemed to have not settled down, exactly, as awakened to the joy they could be. Blair’s touch and touching Blair, watching him during their love-making, listening to the sounds of his rapture, scenting and tasting him was a sensuous symphony of unbounded harmony and passionate delight. He had never been loved so thoroughly before, with such generosity and consideration. Even when endorphins had flooded his body, and he’d forgotten his injured leg, Blair had not, and Blair had taken great care to ensure he didn’t strain the damaged muscle. But, though Blair certainly hadn’t hesitated to take the lead, he had been equally generous in accepting Jim’s ministrations. Blair’s impassioned response to the touch of his hands and mouth had been both thrilling and deeply satisfying. As they’d given one another pleasure, Jim had felt as if they made one another complete. They had no barriers between them and they had lost themselves in the pure sensations of their affinity and affiliation, rejoicing in the richness of the love they shared.

For the first time in his life, Jim thought he understood the sublime, the experience of transcendence.

And this was only the first day of the rest of their lives together.

Once more inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the simple pleasure of letting his fingertips play over the skin of Blair’s back, and he smiled at the prickly feeling of Blair’s stubbled cheek on his chest and the softer play of the hair on Blair’s chest against his body as his lover breathed.

Thunder rumbled low in the distance as he slipped back to sleep.

Jim woke again when he felt the loss of warmth and reassuring weight. Rain was splattering against the windows and the light seeping through the glass was still dim when he opened his eyes and saw Blair gazing down at him. Smiling, he lifted his hand to rub his knuckles against the stubbled cheek. “Morning, Sunshine.”

A grin curved Blair’s mouth as he darted down for a quick kiss that grew lingering before he pulled back. “How’s your leg?” he asked and shifted to sit on the edge of the bed to delicately and very tenderly stroke the injured limb with his fingertips.

“It’s gonna ache for a while,” Jim replied stoically. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You need help getting up?” Blair asked through a yawn as he stood and stretched. Scratching his belly, he went on, “I thought I’d scramble some eggs. Gotta keep your strength up.”

Laughing, Jim pushed himself up and accepted Blair’s support as he stood. Gingerly, he put some weight on his leg and tried not to wince.

With a low order to, “Check your dial,” Blair got a firm grip around his waist and helped him hobble to the bathroom.

“I think I can manage from here, Chief,” he said as he gripped the doorframe.

Quirking a brow, Blair considered that before letting go. “When you’re ready to shower, give a yell.”

Liking that idea, Jim gave him a wide smile as he nodded. From the amused but quizzical expression on Blair’s face, he thought he must look a bit addled, but he didn’t care. He was happy. So happy. “Good idea.”

“You can get the bandage wet, right?”

“I need to change it anyway.”

“Okay,” Blair agreed as his hand dropped from Jim’s waist to linger a moment on his ass. Then, with a light smack, Blair stepped back. “I’ll get you some clean sweats,” he said, turning toward the stairs.

Very much enjoying the view, Jim watched him go before limping into the bathroom. He cranked on the faucet over the tub to get the water to warm up and, when he heard Blair coming back down the steps, he yelled, “I’m ready.”

A moment later, Blair appeared. Dumping the clean clothing on the counter by the sink, he said, “Hold on – just gotta relieve myself first.”

Unabashedly, Jim watched Blair deftly direct his cock, and thought about everything they’d done the night before. Struck by renewed desire, he had to swallow to moisten his suddenly dry mouth and throat. Lifting his eyes, he regarded Blair’s chest and lean arm, his strong neck. When his gaze met Blair’s, he rasped, “I love looking at you.”

Blair’s gaze swept over him and then back. “Feeling’s mutual, man,” he replied, sounding sultry. “You ready for that shower?”

“Uh, yeah.” _God,_ he wondered, _how did I live so long without this – why the hell did it take me so long to admit I wanted him?_ He could feel himself tremble with anticipation of Blair’s hands on his body in this new kind of intimacy. Washing him. Caring for him. Taking care of him. When had anyone ever taken care of him before? When had he ever trusted so completely as to allow it before?

Stepping past him, Blair got into the tub first, and then held out a hand. “Take your time and lean on me,” he instructed. “Once you’re in, I’ll turn on the spray. Just let me do all the work, okay? While you hold onto my shoulders and concentrate on not slipping.”

Blair washed his hair, taking time to knead his scalp and drawing a low moan of pleasure from him. And then those sturdy hands were laving his body with soap as the hot water pelted them both. Watching Blair’s face, Jim was struck by the intense expression of concentration and the very evident pleasure his lover was taking in ministering to his body. Blair’s hands swept over his chest and belly, under and along his arms, and then attended to his groin, all with the same focus, and Jim was struck by the bizarre notion that Blair seemed to be memorizing his body, how it looked and felt.

“I’m gonna kneel to do your legs and feet,” Blair murmured. “You might want to steady yourself with one hand on the wall and the other on my head.”

Jim balanced himself and then Blair dipped down; his touch was amazingly gentle as he washed the injured leg, as if he was taking special care around his wound. When Blair stood, he was closer, and he reached around Jim’s body to wash his back and the cleft of his ass. Jim felt his cock stir against Blair’s belly, but he couldn’t help it. This had to be one of the most sensuous experiences he’d ever had. Sure, he’d showered with others, often – but no one had ever given his body such undivided and caring focus, with very obviously no expectation of anything in return.

“Chief?”

His hands still cupping Jim’s ass, Blair looked up, a smile playing over his lips as he pressed a little closer against Jim’s growing erection. “I don’t think you’re quite ready for water games,” he teased.

Bending his head, Jim kissed him, lightly at first, and then thoroughly. “Let me wash your hair,” he murmured against those luscious lips.

“You sure your leg isn’t ready for you to sit down?”

“I’m good.”

Blair searched his eyes and then handed him the shampoo before gripping his hips to hold him steady. In seconds, Jim had his fingers buried in the heavy curls, lathering and then firmly massaging Blair’s scalp.

Blair tilted his head back to keep the suds from dripping into his closed eyes. “Mmm, feels so good, man,” he groaned, his expression euphoric. “You realize this is gonna have to be a morning ritual from now on?”

Jim kissed him again, loving the taste of him, the scent of him, and the feel of Blair’s cock nudging his leg. Taking his time, he rinsed Blair’s hair and shampooed again, before rinsing and applying the conditioner. The steam intensified their musk, mingling it with the clean smells of soap and the herbal scents that he always associated with Blair. “I could wash your chest and back,” he offered hopefully when all the conditioner was rinsed away.

Once again, Blair studied him before nodding. “Go for it,” he agreed with a blissful smile.

When he finished, Blair helped him out of the tub, sitting him on the closed toilet seat before vigorously drying him. By the time Blair had dried himself and changed Jim’s dressing, it was clear that breakfast was just going to have to wait until they’d assuaged a more urgent hunger.

**

They had just finished a leisurely, late brunch, and Blair was clearing the dishes from the table and cleaning up the kitchen, when the wonder of it all hit Jim, leaving him breathless. In the past twenty-four hours, Blair had agreed to be his partner in all things, both at work and at home, for the whole of their lives. For so long, Jim had hidden his feelings, even tried to deny them, because he had believed all this was impossible. Until yesterday, he’d told himself it would be enough that if his first fervent wish that Blair would become his official partner could be fulfilled. But, unable to hold back any longer, unwilling and unable to pretend any more, he’d dared to voice the second and the more profound wish, the one he truly feared might destroy what they had.

As if he’d been waiting only for that moment of stumbling confession, Blair had showered him with love.

After having held it all inside for so long, the sheer speed and ease with which his most dearly held dreams had come true left him reeling with amazement.

Jim was grateful. Hell, he was nearly delirious with happiness.

But … he had to wonder: why had it been so easy? After all that had happened in the last several months, all the ways he’d screwed up, how had he gotten so damned lucky as to have Blair love him back? A week ago, he’d been a rampaging bull, furiously accusing Blair of betrayal, forcing his best friend to crucify himself publicly and forsake all his dreams. Okay, so he hadn’t asked for that, sure hadn’t expected it … but still, if their positions were reversed, would he have been so quick to accept a half-assed declaration of love with no question, no hesitation? Perplexed, he shook his head.

“What?” Blair asked, breaking into his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“You look, I don’t know, worried, I guess. What’s bothering you?” Blair clarified as he wiped down the table. “Is it your leg? Maybe you should lie down on the couch for a while.”

“No, no, my leg’s fine,” he muttered, distracted by his questions. Waving to the closest chair, he said, “Sit down for a minute. I think … I think, maybe, there’s some stuff we need to talk about.”

His expression curious but unconcerned, Blair sat down and waited expectantly. After a moment, leaning one arm on the table, he probed, “What did you want to talk about?”

Jim covered Blair’s hand with his own and then lifted his eyes to meet Blair’s steady gaze. “I know you love me, Blair,” he began hesitantly. “But I don’t know _why_.”

“What?” Blair exclaimed, sounding and looking incredulous. “Where did that come from?”

“Chief, I’ve been such an ass. I accused you of terrible things and treated you like shit. And not just over the dissertation. When I think about Barnes ….” His throat tightened against the acid bile that rose with all those wretched memories, and his gaze fell away. “I should have trusted you. I shouldn’t have shut you out. And … and I guess I don’t understand how you can forgive me for all the mistakes I made, for everything I’ve messed up so badly.” Once again meeting Blair’s eyes, he asked, “How can you get past all that? How can you trust me enough now to … to love me the way you do?”

“Ah, Jim,” Blair sighed, his eyes welling with compassion … and something darker. Heavier. Sorrow? But he dipped his head, his hair covering his face like a curtain before Jim could be sure about what he’d seen.

Before he could ask, Blair slipped off his chair and dropped to one knee beside him. Lifting his head, his expression earnest and intense, Blair reached out to cup his cheek. “We could waste a lot of time going back over the past. We both made mistakes, Jim. We both screwed up. But … but I don’t want to do that, rake it all up. It happened, and we got through it because we do love one another. And, and, well,” he stammered, again looking away, “we don’t ever know what the future might hold, you know? I mean, now we’re both going to be cops and that’s, that’s a dangerous life.” His eyes sought Jim’s as he went on with hoarse fervor, “I’ve loved you so long, Jim. And I don’t want to waste a minute more, not a second, of being able to love you and be loved by you. Nothing else matters to me more than that. There is nothing in my life more important to me than you are.”

“But _why_?” Jim asked again, needing to know.

Blair’s thumb stroked his cheek as his lover looked deeply into his eyes. A slow smile grew on Blair’s face, and sparkled in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he replied. “You’re as stubborn as a mule and your rules are aggravating. You’re ten years older than me and your hair is thinning.”

When Jim flushed and started to pull away, Blair’s grip on his face tightened, and wonder crept into his voice as he continued, “I just can’t help myself. I look at you and I see this brave, decent man who risks everything he is on a regular basis for strangers, because it’s the right thing to do. A man who is so gentle with people who are hurt and afraid, with children, and yet asks nothing for himself. A man who makes me laugh, makes me feel good about who I am. A man who has been so hurt and betrayed in his life by those who should only have loved him, but who hasn’t let bitterness consume him or … or keep him from being able to love. A man who accepted me into his life and his home, who would protect me with his life, and who has saved my life more times than I can count – a man who is beautiful to me, inside and out – and I just can’t help myself. I am so gone on you that it’s pathetic. Why?” He shrugged. “I guess because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, the best man I’ve ever known. And I’m smart enough to know it. All I really know for sure is that when you said you love me the way I love you, you blew me away. I will love you beyond life, for all of eternity. And you _know_ that’s true. When I was dead, I came back because – and _only_ because – you called me.”

Blair blew a long breath and his gaze drifted to the window. “This time we have now is a gift, Jim. One we might never have had. Let’s just enjoy it, okay?” He sought Jim’s eyes and his tone was imploring as he asked, “Without doubts or worries? Let’s just enjoy it and be grateful.”

Blair’s words and manner evoked a maelstrom of emotion, leaving Jim shaky. He didn’t doubt that Blair loved him and the reasons his lover gave left him feeling humble. But there was darkness there, too, and aching sadness, an inescapable truth that they could lose what they had at any time – and that thought terrified him, leaving him chilled with foreboding. He didn’t want to think about the risks of their job and the dangers the future would hold. Didn’t want to admit that there weren’t any guarantees.

Abruptly, he gripped Blair’s shoulders and, heedless of his injured leg, drew him up and onto his lap. He embraced his love, as if he could hold off all uncertainty and threat and protect Blair from all danger.

But he couldn’t.

Burying his face against Blair’s throat, he let the warmth of Blair’s body and the beat of his pulse soothe him. Blair was right. What they had was precious and he’d never take it for granted again – or, God, he hoped he wouldn’t, even on days when he was tired and discouraged by the world around them. His embrace tightened when he remembered the fountain and what he might have lost, might never have known. Blair’s arms came around him, holding him with solid strength, grounding him.

“Okay,” Jim managed to rasp in answer to Blair’s poignant request. “Okay. I can do that. Enjoy and be grateful.” Pulling back, hoping Blair could see the love he felt, love that was too much for mere words to encompass, he added with a soft smile, “And if I start to slip, if I need it every once in a while, feel free to whack me upside the head and remind me, okay? Remind me how damned lucky I am.”

“You got it, man,” Blair agreed with a grin and a quick kiss. “But you know what? This position isn’t all that comfortable, and it can’t be good for your leg. What do you say we adjourn to the couch and neck in comfort?”

His smile widening, Jim loosened his embrace. “Sounds like a plan, Chief.”

Blair slid onto his feet and helped him stand. “Lean on me,” he offered, as he slipped his arm around Jim’s waist.

Jim put an arm around Blair’s shoulders, gladly accepting the proffered support. “Seems to me,” he observed fondly as they made their way across the floor, “I’ve been leaning on you for years.”

“‘Bout time you admitted that,” Blair groused. “All this time, I wondered if you even noticed.”

Jim lightly smacked the back of his head and grinned when Blair snickered light-heartedly. But then he said, “I always noticed, Chief. And I was always grateful. It’s just taken me a while to be man enough to admit it.”

Blair eased him down on the sofa, propped his leg on a cushion on the coffee table, and then settled down beside him. “I’m wise to you, you know? You’re just saying all this nice stuff because you think I’ll let you have your way with me.”

“Is it working?”

“Oh, yeah,” Blair murmured, as he nuzzled the sensitive skin behind Jim’s ear. “Big time.”

Chuckling with delight, Jim drew him close.

**

Blair waited until he was sure Jim had dozed off, and then carefully extricated himself from his lover’s arms. He’d persuaded Jim to take one of his pain-killers, with the hope that the medication would keep Jim deeply under long enough for him to do what had to be done. Standing, he looked down on his partner and tenderness very nearly overwhelmed him. God, he loved this man.

Blowing a long breath, he forced himself to turn away and pad to his room. Snicking the door shut, he settled at his desk and grimly turned on the laptop. For half an hour, he tapped out bullets that specified the equipment he’d need at the training center, and then he added a note about what would work best in terms of environment – a quiet, rural setting with individual cabins, equipped with white-noise generators, for the participants. He indicated he’d need a lab to test vision, hearing, taste, touch and smell, and a conference room large enough for group discussions. Finally, he stated his own needs for a private office for his records and individual counseling, as well as personal living quarters within the bounds of the center. Since he assumed he’d be reporting for duty with nothing of his own, he gave his sizes and requirements for clothing, books, CDs, a laptop, and the food he expected to find in the cupboards and refrigerator. If they were going to rob him of all he had, of his whole life, they could damned well make sure he was comfortable in his new world.

He was shaking by the time he saved the document and then attached it to the email he addressed to the coordinates Maybourne had given him. Gritting his teeth, determined to hold it together, he finished up the note by asking for more specifics as to when he’d need to ‘report’.

Nearly an hour after he’d begun, he sent the note and then deleted both the email and the document from his computer.

As the documentation sped through cyberspace, his control snapped. Swinging away from the desk, he bent over, crossed his arms tightly and gasped for breath. He didn’t know which emotion dominated. Anger, furious, blind anger for what he was being made to do. Despair, over all he was going to lose now that it was all finally, finally turning out the way he’d long hoped. Fear. Could he trust Maybourne to keep his word and ensure Brackett was kept locked away for good? Would Jim and Naomi be safe? And such grief, over what he was going to put them through, about having to lie to them in such a horrible and fundamental way.

Nausea surged and he scrambled to the bathroom. Even as he retched, he did his best to be quiet and fervently hoped Jim was deeply asleep, the medication holding him under. Tears stung his eyes and he gasped for breath. He hated this. Hated all of it. Everything.

Everything except what he and Jim now shared. He’d never dared hope that Jim could love him or want him. And now, so unexpectedly, to be loved with such tenderness and passion as Jim had shown him in the last twenty-four hours was a gift of such immensity that his heart felt it would burst from sheer joy. It was so perfect, so damned perfect. Finally, finally, when he’d thought he was on the brink of losing everything that held any meaning for him, he had all that he’d ever dreamed of within his grasp ….

Damn it. If he had a _lifetime_ , it wouldn’t be enough to express in words and touch how much he loved Jim. Worse, he was going to become one more betrayal, one more person to whom Jim gave his trust and his love who would be taken away – one more deep and abiding scar on Jim’s heart. One more reason for Jim to give up the hope of loving and being loved. This was a nightmare. A fucking, hideous, hopeless nightmare!

Tears brimmed over his lashes and scalded his cheeks. Grief welled in his chest, choking his ability to draw in breath, and he thought his heart might shatter with the deep, abiding pain of knowing they had so very little time. Shaking so hard he could no longer stand, he sank to the floor and huddled against the wall. Sobs built in his chest and tightened in his throat.

Trembling, he clamped his jaw tight and lifted his fist to his mouth to hold back a scream of futile rage. Every muscle in his body tightened with his need to contain his fury at what was being done to them, both of them. He didn’t dare lose all vestige of control. He couldn’t afford to have Jim learn the truth.

“I have to be strong,” he panted through gritted teeth. “I can’t let my anger and grief ruin everything. Their _lives_ depend upon me holding it together.”

Grimly, as he’d learned long ago to do when despair threatened to consume him, he began counting his blessings. For there were always blessings, always something good in the midst of the ashes. Always something of worth or learning to hold onto for balance and … and hope. For a moment, he floundered. Hope? Hope for what? For a reprieve. Yeah, right.

But before he again began to slide into the pit, he yanked himself back. He couldn’t wallow in his grief and bitterness. Jim wouldn’t sleep forever. Damn it, he could do this, could find the good and hold onto it like a lifeline. He had more than he’d imagined could ever be possible. So what if it was only for a little while?

By rights, he should have already been dead for months, his last shattering memories those of Jim pushing him away and wanting nothing more to do with him. He’d died believing Jim had hated him. But he’d gotten a second chance – hell, he’d gotten a miracle. And he’d almost blown that, almost lost it all over the damned dissertation. He’d been a fool to keep going with it, to write it, when he’d known in his heart that he didn’t want that life. Didn’t want to ever stop working with Jim. Couldn’t bear to even contemplate having to move on. But instead of having to leave with nothing remaining of worth in his life, Jim had exposed himself to those in authority to win the right to have Blair appointed his permanent partner. And Jim had found the courage to admit his deeper feelings, with no real hope they’d be reciprocated. Jim had given him everything, life, love, a future together.

Yes, yes, he had to give it all up. Yes, he had to move on and leave Jim behind. But … he’d leave knowing he was loved, with memories that were more precious than gold. How could he not be grateful for that, however unfair it all seemed? He wasn’t so innocent that he believed that life was a fairytale that assured happy endings. Life … life was about doing the best you could. About … about learning that what ultimately mattered most was love and, if you were very lucky, experiencing the giving and receiving of love in all its forms. He had been given that gift and he had within his power the ability to give love to Jim, without restraint. And though Jim might believe he was dead, and would be sorely hurt, he would never again believe he was incapable of being loved fully, completely, passionately and forever.

Drawing a shuddering breath, Blair told himself he’d make every damned second count. He’d do everything to ensure this was a magical time, a lifetime’s worth of loving and boundless joy. Gradually, by sheer dint of determination, he got himself under control. Rising stiffly, he splashed icy water on his face, brushed his teeth, gargled, and then cleaned the toilet, hoping the scent of the disinfectant solution was sharp enough to cover the sour odors. _Kinda hard to claim that something I ate didn’t agreed with me,_ he thought with wry and weary bemusement, _when we’ve eaten the same thing._ Besides, he didn’t want Jim wondering if he was coming down with something. He didn’t want Jim worrying about anything.

They didn’t have time to waste on imaginary illnesses.

They didn’t have time for _anything_ but the storing up of great memories.

Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he told himself that he had to get a grip. Had to get his act together. Couldn’t keep falling apart like this, no matter how hard it was or how much he hated himself for the lie that he was encouraging Jim to believe. The lie that they had a lifetime together.

Swallowing hard, he looked away from the pallid features and the dark shadows under haunted eyes.

His love wasn’t a lie. His love for Jim was the most honest and purest truth of his life. He just had to live that truth and … and rejoice in it, because what they had was a kind of miracle. He had to hold onto the wonder and the joy. The future was going to happen and there was nothing he could do to change it. Being miserable in advance wouldn’t help.

“Live in the now,” he ordered himself as he left the bathroom, for Jim and Naomi’s lives depended upon him carrying off the illusion of unfettered happiness. “Live _only_ in the _now_.”

But when he padded out into the living room and gazed at Jim, sleeping so peacefully, he began to tremble again and his sight blurred. What Maybourne demanded was so unfair, so massively, hideously, unjust. They deserved years together, not a handful of days, mere weeks. And, God, the ending was going to rip them both apart.

When Jim frowned and stirred, obviously struggling against the drug that deepened his rest, Blair swept his hands across his eyes as he hastily turned away. Damn it, damn it! He had to do better than this.

“Chief?” Jim called in concern as he pushed himself upright. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

Blair froze. He couldn’t hide the scent of salt in the air or slow his hammering heart – couldn’t just pretend everything was fine. Jim would know he was lying. Drawing a shuddering breath, he turned to face his lover and then slowly paced toward him. He could see the concern on Jim’s face deepen, his eyes widen with alarm.

“It’s okay,” Blair said, wishing he could steady his voice and stop the tremors that shook his body. “Really,” he insisted, coming closer. “It’s just that … that I’ve wanted this so much, you know? Wanted to love you and be loved by you, like this, like what we finally have now. And, and I just wish it could last forever. ‘Cause even forever couldn’t ever be enough time.”

Jim’s expression softened. “C’mere,” he offered, lifting an arm.

Blair sank down beside him and leaned in close against his partner’s strength and warmth, his head pillowed on Jim’s shoulder. Jim encircled his shoulders and ran a gentle hand over his arm. “Shh,” he murmured in comfort, his lips nuzzling Blair’s brow. “Easy, babe. Easy.”

The tenderness wasn’t helping – was only intensifying Blair’s grief and tremors quaked through him. He grabbed a fistful of Jim’s shirt and held on. Cursing himself for a fool and panting for breath, he fought for control. Ruthlessly, he told himself he would _not_ allow the tears that scalded his eyes to fall – and was mortified to feel the hot trickle on his cheeks. Jim was going to think he was a basket-case. And he almost lost it completely, almost laughed hysterically. Because that’s exactly what he was: a freaking basket-case. God, this was hard, so hard. He hated the lies, longed desperately to blurt out the truth. Wanted, wanted so bad … but he couldn’t. He _had_ to hold it together. Had to, he chanted in his head, had to, had to just … breathe.

Gradually, the violent shuddering stopped and the tight band around his chest eased enough, at least, that he could stop gasping desperately for breath. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick and hoarse. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just … I just love you so damned much.”

“S’okay, Chief,” Jim soothed with rich and warm tones. “I want forever, too.”

Letting go of Jim’s shirt, Blair wrapped his arms around his beloved and closed his eyes. He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly as he concentrated on the feeling of Jim’s strong embrace, the steady rise and fall of Jim’s chest, the clean scent of Jim’s skin, and the tenderness of Jim’s lips on his temple. Warmth suffused him as he relaxed further. He let the world slip away until there was only the two of them, holding onto one another. “So beautiful,” he sighed. When he surrendered completely to the secure and safe refuge of Jim’s arms, exhaustion snuck up and captured him, drawing him down into the depths of sleep.

**

Once Blair had relaxed into sleep, Jim loosened the reins on his concern. Though deeply touched by Blair’s nakedly vulnerable expression of love, the fact that he’d awoken to find his partner so distraught alarmed him. Over the years, he’d seen Blair excited, joyful, frightened, hurt, furious, pensive, sorrowful, and overcome with passion … but he’d never seen Blair lose it so completely. The man might talk a good game about the importance of expressing feelings, of bringing them into the light, but Blair was nearly as constrained as he was when it came to losing emotional control. Frowning heavily, he remembered when he’d last seen Blair’s eyes spangled by tears over three years ago, when Maya had broken his heart. But that aching loss was nothing compared to how devastated and overwrought Blair had been in the last hour – his heart thundering, his breath tight in his chest, scarcely able to speak without sobbing, tears blinding him, shaking violently, holding on for dear life.

The kid was teetering on the edge of collapse.

 _And no wonder,_ Jim thought with a worried sigh, as he leaned his head back to rest on the sofa. Staring at the ceiling, he acknowledged that the last few weeks – hell, months – had been littered with minefields. Though Blair had done his best to stay focused and balanced, he’d taken hits that no man could simply shrug off. Blair had changed after he’d been murdered, angry at first and then becoming quieter, more somber, more contained. But Blair had persevered, had gotten past the horror, maybe by holding onto the miracle. Jim didn’t know. They’d never talked about it, not any of it. All he knew was that, somehow, his partner had set what happened in Mexico aside; had never once said anything about what it must have meant to him to find Jim on that damned beach with Alex, let alone all the rest of the craziness of that journey. Looking back, Jim understood that his own relief to never have to talk about all that had happened had blinded him to Blair’s unusual and unnatural silence. The hurts of that time must have struck deep for Sandburg to have clammed up completely like that.

Grimacing at his own utter obtuseness, Jim closed his eyes, and his lips thinned as he thought about the dissertation fiasco. The two people Blair loved most in the world – Naomi and himself – had sure done a number on the guy. Jim’s chest ached, as it did whenever he thought about that press conference, and about what Blair sacrificed for him. His partner’s trembling fear that what they had now wouldn’t last made all kinds of sense when stacked up against the reality of losing, in a matter of days, everything that Blair had dreamed about, worked hard to achieve, and had nearly had within his grasp. How much pain was Blair carrying around inside? How deeply had he been wounded by one betrayal after another?

Sure, he and Simon had done their best to pick up the pieces. And Jim believed Blair when he said that he was glad to accept the offer, that being partners was what he most wanted. But, the other stuff, how his lack of credibility and public reputation for being a fraud and a liar would be a problem, was something neither Jim nor Simon had thought a lot about. They’d just wanted to fix the mess, however they could, as fast as they could. Jim was ashamed by how relieved he’d been – and still was – that his secret was safe. Ashamed of how reluctant he was to consider that, maybe, he was going to have to come clean, at least downtown. Blair didn’t want that but it might be necessary. Sighing, he set that thought aside for the time being.

But, in thinking about the offer of the badge, he had to admit that Blair’s anxieties about how much time they’d have were legitimate. They might make it to retirement, but the work was dangerous. There were no guarantees. Were there ever guarantees? People who didn’t chase down violent criminals for a living still died every day in accidents or from illness. Worrying too much about the future could drive them both crazy. They needed to focus on what they had and enjoy that. That was all anyone could do. Jim was sure Blair knew that – the kid was fatalistic by nature – and wouldn’t be so fearful if he wasn’t already carrying the burdens of past disasters. If he hadn’t already died once, not all that long ago. If he hadn’t committed a kind of suicide just days before. Jim shuddered at the memories that filled his mind and determinedly pushed them away. That was the past. All that mattered now was their future.

Jim kissed Blair’s temple, and lightly stroked his sleeping partner’s arm. _We need time,_ he decided. _Time to just be together, to rest and have fun, and heal some of those wounds._

On balance, Jim thought it was a good thing that his partner would have a break between all that had happened and the start of a new career with the PD. Blair wouldn’t be able to take firearms or other essential Academy training for six weeks. Jim would be off work for two of those weeks with his bad leg … and he had months of vacation and comp time accumulated. There was no reason he couldn’t take some of that time now so he wouldn’t have to return to work until Blair started his training. They’d never taken any time to go off just by themselves. Worse, for too long, they’d avoided key issues between them and pretended things had been fine. As a result, they had come too damned close to losing everything far too many times.

Blair … Blair had gone through the fire for him. No wonder the kid was on the edge of crashing emotionally. He needed this time. They both did. Nodding to himself, he decided he’d call Joel, who was covering for Simon, and request the leave.

Settling comfortably against the couch, he smiled at the thought of six weeks with no demands and nothing to do but please themselves. They could go away someplace. Didn’t matter where. Just get in the truck and drive away from Cascade and nosy reporters, away from everything.

**

“Go away?” Blair echoed, blinking in surprise. His gaze dropped to the salad he was making, but his hands were frozen. What would Maybourne think? Would he suspect they were making a run for it? Planning to disappear?

“Yeah,” Jim was saying from where he sat at the table. “Neither one of us has had a holiday for years. We can go wherever you want.”

Slowly, he nodded. He’d give Maybourne his cell phone number. Assure the colonel they were just filling in time while Jim’s leg healed, before the courses at the Academy started. “Anywhere?” he asked, buying time to think.

“Well, maybe not Outer Mongolia,” Jim replied with a grin. “Someplace we can drive. We could cover a lot of ground in six weeks. Or just find a place to hunker down and enjoy. Whatever you want.”

He looked up to meet Jim’s gaze and was struck anew by the love that glowed there for him. Only for him. “Sounds like a great idea,” he agreed with a smile, unable to resist the warmth that suffused him. Not wanting to. “When do we leave?”

“First thing in the morning? Go where the wind blows us?”

“Sounds like a plan, man,” he affirmed with a decisive nod as he finished the salad. Carrying it to the table along with the bowl of stew, he added, “I’m not sure you’re up for hiking in the mountains, so let’s head down the coast to the beaches. Find us a nice little cottage, and stare at the sea for awhile. Once your leg is stronger, we can go on from there.” Giving Jim a lascivious wink as he sat down, he drawled seductively, “Or not. As the mood takes us.”

Chuckling, Jim beamed as he ladled the stew onto his plate.

**

That night, once Jim was soundly asleep, Blair stole down to his room and turned on his computer. His inbox showed a message from an email address he didn’t recognize, but the name, ‘Training Institute’, chilled his blood. For several seconds, he could only stare at it. Giving himself an impatient shake, he clicked to open it.

 _Useful input. Will search rural properties. Materiel requisitioned. Candidate identification has been initiated. Expected timeline remains unchanged._

Shaking his head, Blair reflected that the man didn’t waste any time. Or words. Hitting the reply button, he thought about what he wanted to say and then wrote: ‘Going on holiday with friend for up to six weeks. Will have cell phone but discussion would be overheard. Request no contact until I return.’

He saved the address but deleted the messages, and then opened his internet link to search for beach resorts and cottages along the Washington and Oregon coasts. Half an hour later, he was about to shut down the computer when a new email from ‘Training Institute’ came in: _Understood. Good time to take R &R. Have fun._

 _I plan to, you bastard,_ Blair thought angrily as he deleted the message. Maybourne didn’t care if he had a good time. The ‘have fun’ was an order, pure and simple; a not so subtle reminder to not let anything slip.

But Blair couldn’t deny the relief he felt to know that the colonel would leave him alone until he was back in Cascade. He could relax while they were away and simply focus on Jim without constantly having to wonder when his chain would be yanked. Funny how good freedom could feel when it became something precious and fleeting. Breathing deeply, he relaxed his muscles and visualized the endless stretch of shoreline and the accommodation possibilities he’d found. As he contemplated the six weeks of heaven on earth, a spark of joy flared in his chest. Nurturing that spark, encouraging it to burn and grow, he pictured Jim walking on the beach, cheerful and relaxed, and then Blair imagined his partner in one of those cottages he’d found in his search, utterly sated by the love they would make.

For six weeks, they would be blissfully happy. A small smile tugged at his lips as he closed the laptop and padded back upstairs.

Jim shifted when he crawled back into bed. “Where were you?” his lover muttered, only half awake.

“Checking out cottages for our holiday,” he replied softly, and dropped a light kiss on the corner of Jim’s mouth.

“Mmm, good,” Jim mumbled as he drifted back to sleep.

Blair caressed his lover’s cheek before lying down, his head pillowed on Jim’s chest. Closing his eyes, he imagined the soothing sound of the surf and listened to the solid, steady beat of Jim’s heart.

**

By mid-morning the next day, they were cruising along Highway 1, the windows of the truck open to the bright balmy weather. The air was redolent of the indigo swells that rose into crested waves before surging onto the wide endless stretch of empty sand of the south Washington coast on their right. To the left, high above the road, rambling homes and resorts were perched on the top of steep cliffs. Behind the wheel, Blair was glad there was so little traffic on the narrow highway, unlike summer, when campers, pickups hauling trailers and cars choked the two lanes. This early in the season, they wouldn’t have any trouble getting a place to stay. He glanced at Jim, who was looking out at the ocean, and smiled to see his lover relaxed and at peace with the world. Reaching across the seat, he entwined his fingers with Jim’s.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Blair asked.

“Of all the beaches I’ve seen over the years,” Jim replied quietly, “I’ve never found one more beautiful than right here.” He gave a small shrug. “I’m not sure what it is about this coast. There’s a kind of wildness to it and yet … a serenity.” He looked at Blair. “Maybe it’s just that it’s so open and uncluttered.”

Blair’s gaze swept the open vista before them, and nodded reflectively. “I know what you mean,” he replied. “It’s peaceful. There’s no clamoring hoard of people, just … just the sand, the sea and the sky. There’s a timelessness about it.” He drew in a deep breath of the rich salt air and felt tight muscles begin to ease as he exhaled slowly. “Puts things in perspective.”

“Perspective?” Jim echoed.

“Yeah,” Blair returned thoughtfully. “You know how everyone thinks they’re pretty much the center of the universe? But, out here? That’s impossible. That ocean has been rolling up against that beach since long before we were born and will continue to do so long after we’re gone. In a way, I guess, it’s like sensing infinity. It’s humbling and a reminder that we’re just passing through. Whatever problems we may have will pass, so they’re not worth dwelling on – and, and whatever joy we feel needs to be celebrated and cherished.”

“Taking a cosmic perspective makes us all pretty insignificant, Chief,” Jim groused. “You make it sound like nothing we do matters.”

“I guess, but that’s not what I mean,” he replied. “It’s just that we get so busy, so caught up in stuff, that we can forget what’s really important. I guess I think of the oceans and mountain ranges as … as symbols of the eternal, symbols that call to our souls to draw us away from fear or anger or the clamoring confusion of our minds to the peace of knowing that day to day hassles aren’t what it’s all about.”

“Yeah, yeah. So what do you think ‘it’s all about’, Sandburg?” Jim challenged, sounding aggrieved.

Blair cut his partner a quick look and was relieved to see the smile twitching on Jim’s lips. Jim was playing with him, only pretending irritation to rattle his cage for the fun of it, because Jim knew that the quickest way to wind him up was to pretend sarcastic or irritable disagreement. “I think life’s about doing the best we can but not beating ourselves up when there are things beyond our control. I think it’s about being grateful for what we have. Being kind and compassionate. I think … I think, when you get right down to it, it’s about love, every guise and nuance of love. Love of family and friends. Love of the earth and all life upon it. Love of ideas that excite us and lead us down hidden, previously unknown pathways. Giving love and receiving it. Being in love with life.”

When Jim didn’t respond, only looked away, back at the sea, Blair asked, “Why? What do you think it’s all about?”

Jim sighed and his grip on Blair’s hand tightened. “I know what you’re saying, where you’re coming from,” Jim replied slowly. “But I guess I’ve always figured that love … love is a bonus. Not everybody is lucky enough to get that in life. And not everyone finds it easy to give, either. Not having it isn’t an excuse to give up, to quit trying to make things better. But when it seems like you’re surrounded by indifference or brutality or ugliness, it’s hard to imagine it’s all about love, Chief. It takes strength and determination to keep going, to not give up. So, so I guess I think it’s also about duty. About accepting responsibility and doing what needs to be done, because it’s the right thing to do.”

Jim’s words pierced Blair’s heart, and his throat tightened with emotion. “That’s love in its most pure form,” he murmured hoarsely. Abruptly pulling over to the side of the road, he turned to face his partner. “Jim, that’s the epitome of selfless love. Of … of giving yourself passionately to the best of your ability to make things better for the people around you, for the world in general, without expectation or even hope of recompense. It’s … it’s giving unconditionally, because it’s the right thing to do. I don’t know anyone who is a better of example of that kind of selfless love than you are.”

When Jim flushed and shrugged uncomfortably, Blair lifted Jim’s hand and kissed the lean skin reverently. “I’m sorry,” Blair said softly, “so sorry that you’ve had to suffer so much and been so alone in your life that you think love is some kind of bonus. I wish … I wish I could promise that you’ll never have to suffer again.”

Jim’s hand gently upped his cheek. “Nobody can promise that, Chief,” he replied evenly. “But because of you, I know now what love, real love, is. What it feels like. Might’ve taken half a lifetime to find that out, but what you give me, what you mean to me, is more than worth having had to wait so long.” Once again, Jim’s gaze drifted to the endless stretch of sand and sea. “If … if something happens to me,” he went on gruffly, “I want you to know that you’ve changed my life. Changed me. You’ve made me happier than I ever thought it possible to be.”

“I glad, Jim. Just … just know that it goes both ways, okay? ‘Cause you mean the world to me, man,” Blair said huskily as he shifted across the seat to slide his arms around Jim.

Hugging him, drawing him closer still, Jim kissed his brow. “I know you worry about the dangers of the job, Chief. But I’ll do all I can to keep us both safe.”

“I know. So will I. But sometimes things are just beyond our power. That’s why it’s so important to enjoy every moment we have. To cherish what means the most to us,” Blair insisted, his heart aching with the knowledge of what was to come. “I can and do promise you this, Jim. Whether we’re together or, or … apart, I will never stop loving you. Never. No matter what.”

“Same here, Blair,” Jim vowed, his embrace strong and loving. “No matter what.”

Wrapped in one another’s arms, they quietly watched the sea roll into shore.

**

They stopped in Newport, on the Oregon coast, for lunch, and on the window of the restaurant they spotted rental advertisements for cottages on the water. One in particular appealed to them both and, immediately, Jim pulled out his cell phone. He punched in the number as they went inside and made arrangements to see the place after they finished eating.

“All set,” he reported as he slid into the booth across from Blair. “If it turns out to be as good as it looks, how long do you think we should take it for?”

“A month,” Blair suggested. “That’ll give your leg a chance to fully heal and the quiet will do us both good. After that, maybe we’ll feel like heading further south. Spend a few days in San Francisco before going home. Take a ride on a cable car? Maybe sample the wine in Napa Valley on the way?”

“Sounds good, Chief,” Jim agreed with a grin as he perused the menu.

**

They found the cottage about ten minutes out of town, at the end of a rutted lane that wound between high dunes and through a stand of conifers. The light wind off the sea rustled through the boughs, scenting the air with salt and pine. Before getting out of the truck, they sat for a moment, drinking in the sight of the humble building nestled in the trees. Sunlight and shadow dappled the plain, white-washed planks, and the wide windows reflected the glittering sea. A narrow, covered porch adorned with well-worn wooden Adirondack chairs and a gas barbecue fronted the cabin. There was no grass beyond naturally growing tussocks here and there that waved gently in the breeze, and the earth was richly covered with decades of pine needles that had grown soft over time. Bordering the porch, there was a simple garden that was brightly alive with daisies and delphiniums. All they could hear was the wind creaking in the trees, the twitter of birds and the occasional cawing of a gull, and the hushed rush of surf on the sand.

They looked at one another and smiled with wordless understanding. Once they alighted from the truck, they ambled onto the warm sand to admire the broad expanse of the ocean. Leaning on his cane, Jim turned in a slow circle, noting the absence of any other nearby dwelling places. The wind riffled Blair’s hair as he looked up at the sky and the pillowy clouds drifting lazily to the east. Jim cocked his head and, a few moments later, Blair heard the low rumble of a car approaching along the lane.

Turning, they sauntered back toward the cottage to meet the renter, who had just pulled up and was getting out of a weathered jeep. The sturdy, middle-aged woman was dressed in worn jeans and comfortable shirt. She smiled at them and called out, “Mr. Ellison? I’m Courtenay Rollins.”

Jim reached out to shake her hand. “Call me Jim. And this is my partner, Blair Sandburg.”

“Mr. Sandburg,” she acknowledged, as they shook.

“Just Blair,” he replied with a smile.

“Blair, Jim, thanks for coming to see the place,” she replied. Turning toward the cottage, she gestured for them to follow her. “As you can see, it’s not fancy, but it’s solid. Come on in, and I’ll show you the rest of it.”

They mounted the two, shallow wooden steps and crossed the porch behind her, following her inside after she’d unlocked and opened the door. “There are just the two rooms,” she went on, “plus the bath. The furniture isn’t new, but it’s comfortable, and the place is stocked with linens and the basic kitchen utensils, like dishes and pots and pans. I’m sorry, as you can see, there’s no phone, television, microwave, or sound system. After the cabin was broken into a couple times, we gave up providing such lures to thieves. However, cell phones work out here and it’s easy and inexpensive to rent the other things in town.”

Jim nodded as he studied the polished pine floor, table and chairs, and kitchen cabinets along the back wall of the cottage. The refrigerator and stove weren’t new, but their surfaces were pristine and they looked well cared-for. In front of the broad windows, the teal colonial-style sofa, chairs and ottomans were flanked by sturdy pine tables and reading lamps. An oval braided rug lent warmth to the sitting area. There was a small bookcase loaded with mysteries, decks of cards and old board games along one wall, and a woodstove in one corner, with dry wood and kindling stacked beside it.

Blair had wandered through to check out the bedroom. When he reappeared with a broad smile that didn’t waiver after he checked out the bathroom, Jim said, “This looks like just what we wanted.”

“Yeah,” Blair agreed. “It is.”

Turning to Courtenay, Jim asked, “Is the place available for the month?”

“Absolutely,” she replied, adding as she headed out the door, “I’ll just get the rental agreement from the jeep.”

“Hey, check out the rest of the place,” Blair urged, eagerly waving Jim toward him.

Jim glanced into the bathroom on the way by, approving the clean porcelain fixtures, the simple cabinetry, and the large tub with shower fixtures, and gave a low whistle of appreciation when he entered the bedroom. The king-sized cannonball bed, constructed of dark pine and covered with a simple blue puffy duvet and pillows, jutted from the north wall. Brass lamps sat on the tables beside the bed, and a tall bureau stood against the opposite wall next to a large closet that held shelves of linen. Wide and deep, sliding windows on the other two walls looked out on the forest on one side and the beach on the other. Blair had already opened the window on the back and when he slid the other one wide, a breeze freshened the room.

“It’s perfect,” Jim murmured.

They heard Courtenay return and went back into the living area. Five minutes later, she had the signed documents and Jim’s check in hand, and they had the key to the cottage.

“Sit down and admire the view while I bring in our gear,” Blair directed fondly, with a meaningful glance at Jim’s injured leg. “And then we can go pick up some supplies.”

After he loped outside, Jim opened the window over the sink in the kitchen, and then cranked open the two windows that framed the wide span of glass that overlooked the sea. He eased himself down onto one of the armchairs and inhaled deeply. Looking around the room, he felt a glow of pleasure at its warm simplicity and reflected that the place was just what they both needed. Blair could rest here, and the peace of the place, the soothing sounds of the sea and the birds would restore his spirit, maybe bring some sparkle back into his too-somber eyes.

**

For the first week, they did little more than sleep, eat, read, go for short walks along the beach, and make love. Though the silences between them were comfortable, Jim was concerned by Blair’s lack of chatter. His partner wasn’t mute, and they talked about what they were reading or what they saw as they walked, but there was an absence of cheerful, aimless but entertaining chatter. He wondered what Blair was thinking during those times when his lover stared out at the sea or up at the stars in the clear night sky. But he knew Blair needed time to process things and, God knew, the man had reason enough to be processing. So he bided his time, hoping the silence and solitude would work its magic in helping his partner to come to grips with all the changes in his life. And he made love to Blair with impassioned tenderness in the big bed.

But when nearly a week had passed and Blair remained unnaturally quiet, Jim couldn’t help worrying or wishing he could make things easier for his lover. Blair was a great proponent of talking so, though Jim was less enamored with the idea of soul searching and working things out with words, he decided the silence had gone on long enough. That evening, as they sat on the porch and watched the sun set in a riot of blazing colour, he reached out to take Blair’s hand. “You okay?” he asked tentatively.

Though Blair nodded slowly and, with a small smile, said, “Sure, I’m fine,” the sudden tightening of his breathing and the tell-tale skip of his heart into a faster pace belied his words.

“No, you’re not,” Jim contested as gently as he knew how. “I know this has been a really tough time for you. It can’t have been easy to give up your life at Rainier, or to suddenly agree to an entirely new career, especially one that requires you to take weapons training. I’m just saying that, if you want to talk about it, I’m here and ready to listen.”

Blair’s gaze fell away and he went back to watching the sunset and the sea. Settling back in his chair, his grip tightened reassuringly around Jim’s fingers. “It was easier than you think,” he said quietly.

When he lapsed back into silence, Jim prompted, “C’mon, Chief. Talk to me. What have you been thinking all week when you stare at the water or up into the sky?”

Blair’s lips quirked, and he shifted to face Jim. “I’ve been thinking the Universe can be enormously kind. Jim, when I gave that press conference, I wasn’t upset about giving up everything at Rainier. But I _was_ afraid that it might not be enough to … to fix things for you. And, and I was terrified that I’d lost what mattered most to me: your trust and the right to be with you on the job – and I was pretty sure that I’d even have to move out, so nobody would wonder why you put up with having me under the same roof.” Layering his other hand over their clasped fingers, he went on, “Sure … I wanted that doctorate for a very long time. I love learning and I loved teaching. But I don’t have to go to school or be part of a university community to learn. I love you, being with you, more than anything else in my life. I thought I’d lost everything, Jim, everything that mattered. And then you gave me everything I could ever want or hope for – just this, Jim, what we have right now, being your partner in everything, is all I’ve dreamed of for quite some time now. Being here with you feels like a miracle to me.”

Jim’s throat tightened with poignant gratitude for he could sense the truth of everything that Blair was saying. But his gut told him there was something else going on, something still deeply wrong. He could see love in Blair’s eyes and even a kind of happiness, but the shadows were still there, lurking, as if trying to hide from him. Mostly, he could only tell they were there because they hid the sparkle of vitality and inherent joy in life that was as much a part of his lover as was breathing. And when he moved, Blair often seemed stiff and weary; there was no bounce and damned little eagerness … except when they made love, and then he felt as if Blair was fully present, fully alive.

“What about having to carry? You once said you’d never do that,” he persisted.

“Yeah, I know,” Blair agreed. He sighed and looked up at the darkening sky. “I’ll never be wholly comfortable with guns. The idea that I might have to kill someone someday leaves me shaky inside. But … but I know it’s necessary. And it’s not like I haven’t handled weapons in the last few years or even shot at people who were shooting at us. I’m in favor of peaceful solutions but I’m not blind to the reality that that’s not always possible. Not with the characters we’ve confronted over the years. I decided some time ago that if I had to learn how to protect you, others, and even myself with a gun, then I would, especially if that was the only way I could get to be your partner for good.”

“I’m sorry, Chief,” Jim murmured. “I wish there was another way.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he replied firmly, though he still evaded Jim’s gaze. “I’ve been thinking for quite a while that it’s something I should learn and get good at, given the nature of the work you do. When it comes right down to it, I will always do everything in my power to keep you safe. Because … because nothing matters to me more than you do.”

Looking away, searching the night, Jim felt overwhelmed by Blair’s commitment to him – and lost, completely at sea, as to what the hell was worrying his partner so much. If Blair was doing what he wanted, if he had everything that he said mattered to him, then why the hell did he seem so haunted in unguarded moments, so constrained – and why wouldn’t he talk about it? “Then is it the whole credibility thing?” Jim asked with a frown, feeling as if he was floundering around in uncharted waters but more certain than ever that he wasn’t getting the whole story. “Are you worried about what others think, or about testifying in court?”

“No,” Blair said, though his tone sounded distant. “No, I can honestly say that I’m not worried about that at all.”

Jim’s frown deepened and his lips tightened on his urge to shout that that didn’t make any sense. Because it didn’t. After four years of working by his side, Blair _had_ to understand the law enforcement culture and the role of defense attorneys well enough to know there would be backlash and some very tough times ahead. Hell, he’d said as much the day they’d been driving home after they’d offered him the badge – and then Blair had tried to downplay those issues and concerns almost immediately. However much Blair protested that he was fine, Jim’s instincts screamed that there was something badly wrong, something important that Blair wasn’t saying.

Baffled, Jim thought about the last few weeks, seeking understanding or at least some clue. He remembered how Blair had clung to him the day before they’d left Cascade, terrified that what they had couldn’t last. Biting his lip, Jim recalled that he’d thought it was because Blair had lost so much, been through so much, given up so much, and the kid hadn’t really had any permanence in his life to begin with. And the work was dangerous. Blair was smart enough to know there could be no guarantees. But he’d just said that giving up his academic career hadn’t mattered as much as maybe losing what they had, their friendship, their home together, and the right to work together. So was it just that fear of an unknown future, of the hazards they’d confront on the job that was bothering the kid? No. No, that didn’t feel right. Blair would talk about that sort of thing – hell, he’d be working out strategies to minimize the dangers. The Blair he knew would be dealing upfront with the credibility problem, not casting it aside as a non-issue.

Blair said he was happy, that what they had now was a kind of miracle … and though Jim _knew_ he was telling the truth, he could still sense a deep, pervasive sadness in the man. What the hell was going on?

“Chief, it’s not that I don’t believe what you’re saying,” he ventured as anxiety tightened in his gut, “but I know you. I know there’s something you’re not saying. I wish you’d tell me what it is.”

Blair didn’t say anything for a long moment and, though the light was fast fading, Jim could easily read the flicker of emotions on his partner’s face and in his eyes. Emotion that only increased his certainty that there was something badly wrong, in large measure _because_ Blair so quickly hid what looked like pain and grief behind a mask of bland neutrality.

Finally, Blair turned to him, and leaned forward as he said with utter sincerity, “Okay, I admit it. The future … well, there are things I’m not sure how I’ll be able to do. I don’t want to hurt you, Jim. I don’t want to let you down. And I sure don’t want to ever violate your trust again. But I can only promise that I’ll give you the best that’s in me for all the days that we’ll share. But … but I really don’t want you to worry about any of that now. I don’t want to talk about the future. More than anything, I want to enjoy this time with you. Can we do that? Can we just let the rest go and … and treasure this time together?”

Jim searched Blair’s eyes and nearly flinched at the naked plea for understanding and agreement that he read in their depths. “Yeah, yeah, we can do that,” he agreed and his heart twisted at the gratitude that flooded Blair’s eyes. “Chief … I’ll do everything I can to help you, okay? And, for what it’s worth, there’s no way you’ll ever let me down and I’ll never doubt you again.” When Blair’s gaze dropped, Jim reached out to cup his cheek. “We’ll leave it for now. But, when we get home, I hope you’ll let me in on the stuff that’s worrying you. We’re partners … there’s nothing you can’t tell me, nothing that we can’t work out together.”

Blair’s swallow was heavy, almost convulsive, and Jim could hear him trying to breathe evenly. “Blair, whatever it is that’s eating at you – one thing I know for sure. You’d never do anything to willingly hurt me, so don’t ever worry that I’d think you would.”

Nodding, Blair murmured hoarsely, “You’ve got that right.” He blinked rapidly to clear away the salty burn Jim could smell. Blair sniffed and cleared his throat, and then he looked up into Jim’s eyes. “I love you, man. For the rest of my life, I’ll dedicate my life to keeping you safe.”

“Hell, Chief, you’ve done that since the day we met and you pulled me under that garbage truck,” Jim replied stoutly. “You became my Blessed Protector quite some time before I became yours.”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” Blair returned with a wistful smile. He reached up to trace Jim’s lips, and then leaned forward to kiss him and murmur against his lips, “Come to bed. Let me love you.”

Jim nodded and, standing, he drew Blair up into his arms. Though he couldn’t quite quell the anxious foreboding that quivered in his chest, he told himself that it was natural for Blair to be nervous about the future. Whatever fears were haunting his beloved, they’d worked them out. With a last glance at the starry heavens, he offered up his own welling gratitude that they were together now in every sense of the word, and made his own vow to protect and love Blair with all that he was.

And then, his arm around Blair’s shoulders and Blair’s arm around his waist, they went into the cottage and closed the door against the night.

**

Jim was sleeping, his head pillowed on Blair’s shoulder, but sleep was eluding Blair. Staring out the window into the darkness, over and over he replayed their earlier conversation on the porch. Of course Jim sensed something was wrong. They knew each other too well, had been so close for so many years and, now, were a part of one another. He’d known when Maybourne had told him he was simply supposed to disappear that it wouldn’t work, that Jim wouldn’t buy it. Maybe he should have gone immediately. As hard as it would have been, at least his disappearance at that point would have been credible. Everyone would have assumed that he’d decided to cut his losses and start over somewhere else. If he’d been thinking straight, instead of being overwhelmed by shock and sick to his soul about what was being demanded, he would have realized that he should have just left with Maybourne.

But then he wouldn’t have known that Jim loved him. Blair smiled sadly as he very delicately stroked his fingertips through Jim’s hair. And Jim would never have known how very much he was loved. So he couldn’t regret that he’d stayed. Could never regret this time together.

Maybourne had seemed to think that faking his death would be easy. Not hardly. The colonel didn’t have a clue about Jim’s capabilities. Even without his senses, the man was an extraordinary detective. But Jim was so much more than that. And there’d be no body, so … would Jim accept whatever evidence was concocted? Especially now, when Jim’s radar was already quivering? When he knew there was something Blair wasn’t saying, something about the future that Blair just couldn’t talk about? God, the faked death had to be convincing or Jim wouldn’t give up. Not now. Not when they meant everything to one another. Jim would quit his job, if necessary, and search for the rest of his life, never knowing what had happened or why. God … Blair’s heart clenched and he pressed his eyes closed. Jim’s life would be ruined.

Or Jim would find him – or at least get close enough that Maybourne might turn Brackett loose. Jim wouldn’t even know the rogue agent was hunting him, and that would be to Brackett’s advantage. If Jim knew of the threat, then he could safeguard himself, and maybe Naomi, too. Blair shivered and pressed his lips to Jim’s brow. How could he keep this man and his mother safe? Could he rely upon Maybourne to make his death so convincing that Jim would never suspect the truth? Could he risk that?

Some best-case scenario. That Jim would truly believe he was dead. Sorrow suffused him and he pressed his lips together to keep them from trembling. If the situation was reversed and he thought Jim was dead – it would kill him. Oh, he might not fall over dead, but he’d be dead inside. Would it be any different for Jim? With all that Jim had already suffered in his life, all the losses he’d endured? How could he do that to Jim? Allow him to believe such a hideous lie? And what would the emotional trauma do to Jim’s senses? Would he lose control, like he had when Danny had died? And if he did, what then? Who would be there to help him? Simon and the others would do what they could, but would that be enough? If it wasn’t … if it wasn’t ….

Blair rubbed at his eyes. There was no ‘best-case scenario’. Whichever way he looked at it, Jim would be at risk. There had to be a way to mitigate the fallout. But he was damned if he could come up with any ideas. All he knew was that the way Maybourne wanted it to play out wasn’t going to work.

Exhausted, Blair wrapped his arms around Jim’s shoulders, and wished with all his heart that he could just tell Jim the truth. But he couldn’t. Jim would be enraged by the game Maybourne was playing and wouldn’t be swayed by the threats. He’d refuse to let Blair go, and would fight back. But fighting back meant one of three things: going public about his senses to diffuse the threat of exposure; either refusing to comply with a government order to report back for duty, which meant he would probably have to be on the run for the rest of his life, or accepting the order and losing the life he lived in Cascade; or taking his chances – and putting Naomi’s life on the line, as well – against Brackett.

Blair didn’t find any of those options acceptable.

But … what if Jim only learned the truth after Blair had already disappeared? He might still search. Knowing Jim, he probably would. But he’d be aware of the risks that Maybourne and Brackett presented and, maybe, to ensure Naomi’s welfare, he’d … he’d let it be. There’d be no point in going public if Blair was already gone. But at least he’d know Blair was still alive, so maybe his senses wouldn’t present such a problem.

Was there a way of leaving a message for Jim, to be read after his ‘death’? Without Maybourne finding out about it? The odds were, Maybourne would be watching closely and Blair wouldn’t put it past him to have the loft searched to find any clues that Blair might have left behind. If Jim didn’t appear to be grief-stricken, then the Colonel would again suspect that Blair had done something to compromise the secret operation. Any letters Blair wrote once he left would be examined before being mailed, he had no doubt of that. So he couldn’t wait until after he was gone to get a message to Jim. If he was going to do this, going to somehow let Jim know the truth, then it had to be well-hidden, and it had to be done either before or as soon as they were back in Cascade. After that, he could be pulled in at any time. But it would also have to be hidden in plain sight, for Jim to have a chance of finding it.

Which brought him back to the probability that Maybourne would have the loft searched.

If there was time, maybe he could contact a lawyer and leave a letter to be given confidentially to Jim if anything ever happened to him. If there was time. But there was no guarantee of that. Maybourne could pluck him out of Cascade at any moment after they got back.

Letters. How could he hide a letter? How could letters be hidden in plain sight? Letters that could be read by anyone if they were left lying around? Unless … unless ….

An idea flickered on the edge of his consciousness and was as quickly gone.

Scowling with frustration, he scrubbed his face and sighed. Okay, so the ‘how’ was a little murky. But there _had_ to be a way. He had five weeks to figure it out. Biting his lip, he thought it was all still far from ideal but … but the decision to find a way to let Jim know the truth left him feeling a little better. At least he wouldn’t be leaving Jim with a lie. Jim would know that he hadn’t gone of his own free will but had been compelled and had felt he didn’t have a choice. There’d be hurt and sorrow, and they’d both suffer the loss of no longer being together, but it wouldn’t be a betrayal. And if Jim did try to find him, as Blair was pretty sure Jim would, at least he’d know the risks and could take precautions for his safety and Naomi’s. Far from a perfect solution, he knew, but it was the best option he had to ensure that Jim and his mother wouldn’t inadvertently be left at risk.

And, maybe, someday he’d win his freedom, if he trained someone else to do what Maybourne wanted of him, or if Maybourne retired … or whatever. Maybe they could both hold onto the hope that someday they could be together again.

Hope and memories would be all they’d have.

Wasn’t much, but hope was better than nothing. And now he had something to think about other than the coming separation and the sickening sense of being a total victim. He was taking back some control. Making decisions about how this was really going to play out. He might have to dance to Maybourne’s tune, but he’d dance his way.

With an ironic smile, Blair found that even the vestige of a half-assed plan helped him to relax and tension eased from his body. Just the idea that he could and would find a way to tell Jim the truth helped immeasurably. There’d be grief and pain, but there wouldn’t be lies and betrayal between them. The simple peace of that knowledge allowed his breathing to deepen and slow.

He was startled when Jim stirred and rolled onto his side to lean on his elbow and look down at him.

“Hey, sorry, man, if I woke you,” Blair murmured, squinting to see Jim in the darkness.

“I wasn’t asleep,” Jim told him quietly as he reached out to caress Blair’s stubbled cheek. “You figure out what you’re – we’re – going to do about whatever’s been bothering you?”

With a small snort, Blair shook his head. “I can’t get anything past you, can I?”

“Nope,” Jim affirmed with a small smile. But the smile disappeared when he insisted, “You _will_ bring me up to speed when we get home, right? You’ll let me in on whatever it is?”

Nodding slowly, Blair replied, “Yeah, I will. Maybe not right away. But I definitely will.”

“Good,” Jim approved. “So you think we can get some sleep now?”

Blair’s grin widened. “Well … if that’s what you want. But since we’re both awake …?”

Jim grinned as he bent down to capture Blair’s lips with his own.

**

Over the next several days, while he walked on the beach or pretended to read, Blair pondered the challenge of leaving a message that Jim would find and understand but that no one else would. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that there was just no way to say, ‘I’m not dead,’ in anything that any eyes but Jim’s would read. And to say anything more circumspect would risk Jim not understanding. He wondered if there was a way of using Jim’s senses … like a recorded message that no one but Jim would hear. But when could he record it without Jim hearing? They were together all the time and this had to be done before they got back to Cascade. Scent and taste were of no use. Touch? Could he write something using only a pin, to leave slight indentations that Jim could feel? But … blank pages could so easily be overlooked. Invisible ink, maybe? Could Jim read that? Frustrated, he shook his head.

How did spies send seemingly innocuous messages that held a wealth of information? Simple, they used a code only they understood. Only Blair didn’t know any cryptic codes. Morse code, sure, but anyone in the military would know Morse, wouldn’t they? So anyone Maybourne might send to check out the loft to ensure no message was left would pretty quickly key in to a sheet of paper that was covered in Morse code. And the only method of encryption Blair knew anything about was how to encrypt a file on his computer, using a password that nobody else knew. And that wasn’t really encryption. That was just a sophisticated way to store files electronically. And how would Jim know to look – or what password to use? Still, using the computer was probably part of the solution. He could leave a clear message in an encrypted file.

That only left the problems of how to get Jim to look for the file in the first place … and how to convey the password to get into it. So he was back to having to leave a message in plain sight that no one else would understand. Oh and there was the problem of writing such a message in front of Jim, without Jim knowing what he was doing.

And he didn’t have his computer with him.

And his lack of success in trying to figure this thing out was really beginning to frustrate him.

Worse, he knew Jim was watching him and picking up on his persistent preoccupation and frustration. If he didn’t soon resolve this in his own head and let it go, Jim was going to lose patience with the idea of waiting until they were back in Cascade to get some answers.

 _Keep it simple_ , he told himself sternly one day, as he ambled along the beach beside Jim. _Don’t make it so complex._

But it wasn’t a simple problem and getting it wrong could have disastrous consequences. How did one reduce complexity? By breaking it down into simpler elements. What elements did he have so far? An encrypted message on his laptop. His knowledge of Morse code. But he still had to leave some overt clue that Jim would be sure to get that would lead him to the computer. What could he be sure Jim would read? A letter. _Good one, Einstein_ , he castigated himself. If Jim could read it, so could anyone else who searched the loft. So what kind of letter would the presumed searcher disregard or not read closely enough to see that there was something hidden within? Irritated with his inability to find a simple solution, Blair scuffled his feet and kicked at the sand.

Sand.

Letter.

 _Love Letters in the Sand …._

Love letters!

Excitement quickened and his mind raced over the possibilities. That could work. A series of letters that he could mail as their holiday progressed. Letters he could write in front of Jim, even teasing his lover that he’d have to wait to read them until they got home and the letters were delivered. And in one or more of the letters, he could insert some kind of simple message of dots and dashes that would lead Jim to the computer. It was obscure and innocuous enough that it might pass scrutiny by some third party. Hell, Jim might well miss the hidden messages, too. But … but if Jim thought he was dead, then he might want to read those letters again and again. And, eventually, Jim would pick it up, would see the repetitive pattern. He could even leave a message that built from one letter to the next. Once Jim spotted any one of the repetitive patterns, he’d figure it out, go back through all the letters and follow the message, like a trail of bread crumbs, to the computer.

So the bulk of the work could be done while they were away and all Blair had to do was leave the final, clear message on the computer. He could write that the night they got back home, after Jim was asleep. Then, even if Maybourne called him in the very next morning, it would be done. There’d be a way of Jim learning what had really happened.

Relief at having found a workable solution swept over him and then elation surged through him. Grinning, he couldn’t stop himself from doing a little, shuffling dance on the sand. Looking up, he caught Jim looking at him bemusedly.

“What was that all about?” Jim asked.

Sliding in close, wrapping his arms around Jim’s waist, he looked up and said with a wide smile, “I’ve just had a great idea! I’m going to write you love letters!”

“Wh-at? Love letters?” Jim echoed in confusion.

“Yeah, why not? Every week for the rest of our holiday, I’ll write you a letter and mail them. And you’ll get them when we get home – you know, sort of like souvenirs from our holiday.”

When Jim still looked askance at him, Blair teased, “Ah, come on! Where’s your sense of romance? Writing love letters is a great tradition that spans the ages, only because we live together, we wouldn’t usually send one another letters. I think it’s a fantastic idea. You’ll see. You’ll be glad to get them.”

“Romance, huh?” Jim grunted wryly. Gazing at him, searching his eyes and seeing something that evidently affected him deeply, Jim began to smile in the peculiarly vulnerable way that never failed to tug at Blair’s heart. Nodding, he hugged Blair and murmured into his hair, “You’re right, Chief. Sounds like a great idea. Maybe I should write you some letters, too.”

Blair’s throat thickened at the thought that he’d probably not see those letters for a very long time, if ever. But if, someday, he did win his freedom from Maybourne, those letters would be waiting for him, and he’d cherish them. “I’d like that,” he whispered huskily. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Well, then I guess we’d better go into town and buy some note paper,” Jim replied with a warm, indulgent chuckle, turning him back toward the cottage.

“Good idea, man,” Blair agreed with alacrity, anxious to set his plan into motion.

 

**

Sitting at the table, Blair gnawed on the end of his pen as he gazed across the room at Jim, who was studying the blank card in his hand, as if wondering what the hell to write on it. Though he couldn’t help smiling at his partner’s discomfiture with what Jim probably thought was a dumb idea, Blair was anxious about the task he’d set for himself. The letters had to be authentic, had to say what he really felt, while at the same time hiding clues. Taking a breath, he put pen to paper and wrote,

 _Dear Jim,_

 _I know you probably think this exchange of letters is a bit over the top, but there are things that I want and need to say to you that I’m not sure you would be comfortable hearing in any other way. We’ve never talked a whole lot about our feelings and, over the years, we’ve gotten into trouble for being silent -.-.-.-- for not being straight with one another, especially over, well, stuff that’s hard to explain rationally or that’s too emotional. And sometimes, I guess you’ve been silent to protect me -.-.-.-- I understand that. Sometimes, that works both ways. Or, I hope it does. That, looking back, you understand that there were times when I thought it was important to keep things hidden from you in order to protect you. But I never wanted or intended to ever hurt you._

 _Oh, man, where do I start? I guess the first and most important place is to tell you that you’re -.-.-.-- you’re my world. My whole world. I guess that probably sounds crazy. Nobody should be that bound to another person that nothing else in life much matters -.-.-.-- but that’s how I feel. There is literally nothing I would not do for you -.-.-.-- nothing I would not give up for you. I know you probably don’t want to hear this. That you’re not comfortable when others make sacrifices for you. But understand the meaning of ‘sacrifice’, Jim. It’s about offering up something of immense value and import for something or someone who is worth it -.-.-.-- worth more than what is given, at least to the giver. So don’t begrudge me the right to give you the gifts I believe are worthy of you._

 _Hard to say this stuff -.-.-.-- hard even to write what I feel clearly. When I look back over what I’ve just written, I realize I’ve not said anything about why you have come to mean everything to me. But there’s no rush. We’ve got weeks of holidays left, so I’ll be sending you a number of letters that will be filled with words that will, hopefully, make sense to you. I guess the key will be to take this step by step. I hope you’ll be patient with me and read all the letters I send. And I hope that you’ll look past the words to read what I can’t express but that is written in my heart._

 _Love always and forever,  
Blair_

Blair frowned as he read over what he’d written. Was it too blatant? Or would all those dots and dashes simply look like an artful personal style of expressing hesitation to anyone casually glancing over the letter? Did the letter even make any sense? ‘Key’ was the shortest and easiest word to convey in one piece of code. If Jim saw and understood it, and then read the letter again from that context, then he’d know more coded messages were coming. It was the best he could do. Sighing, he folded it up and slipped it into an envelope.

Looking up, he saw Jim scowling heavily at whatever he’d scrawled on the card and Blair smiled wistfully, hoping he’d have the chance to read it some day. But he didn’t want this exchange of letters to be a hassle for Jim, or something that made him uncomfortable.

“Just because I want to do this doesn’t mean you have to,” he called softly.

“Huh?” Jim looked up. “No, I want to. Just … I don’t think I’m very good at this, Chief.”

“There’s no good or bad to this, Jim. Whatever you write will mean the world to me.”

Jim quirked a brow and gave a small, uncertain shrug. “I sure hope so,” he muttered, as he stuffed the card into its envelope.

**  


Jim no longer needed his cane, and his leg had healed enough that the time had come to begin exercising the muscle. So they spent most of the third and fourth week of their sojourn by the shore taking long walks along the beach. Though he could tell Blair was still preoccupied by something, and it was damned hard not to simply shake whatever it was out of his lover, he was relieved that Blair did seem a bit better. Ever since the night when Blair had lain awake for a long time, and then abruptly began to relax, and then, a few days later, came up with his crazy idea of writing each other love letters, he’d seemed more himself.

Remembering that moment when he’d first seen some of that old teasing, lively sparkle in Blair’s eyes after months of its absence, Jim still felt a twist in his heart. Getting away from everything had been a good idea, he congratulated himself. Everything was going to be okay. They’d just needed the time to unwind and chill out.

When a thunderstorm rolled in fast early one afternoon while they were a good distance up the beach from the cabin, they had to run back to shelter. The wind was brisk and the rain cold on their skin after the warmth of the hot sun, and they were soaked by the time they scrambled up onto the porch and inside. Laughing, Blair raked his wet, heavy hair back from his face, and then gave an exaggerated shiver.

“Looking a little bedraggled, Chief,” Jim teased, chuckling as he shucked his sopping shirt.

Blair snorted as he pulled his own shirt off. “Man, it’s freezing!” he complained, but then he eyed Jim’s broad chest and heat rose in his eyes. “I say we take a hot shower to warm up,” he drawled seductively as his gaze lifted to meet Jim’s.

“Last one in makes dinner!” Jim called over his shoulder as he dashed to the bathroom.

Laughing, hampered by his effort to hurriedly peel off his wet jeans, Blair hopped and stumbled after him. By the time he made it to the bathroom, Jim had the water running and was stripping off his jeans. Blair slithered past him and stepped into the tub. “I win!” he called merrily.

Climbing in behind him, Jim wrapped his arms around his lover. “Maybe so,” he allowed, as he bent his head under the hot spray that splashed over them both. “But I got the prize.”

**

Rain was still pelting the cabin, and the wind was thrashing through the fir trees behind the cabin, when they finished cleaning up the kitchen after dinner. Jim knelt by the woodstove, to start a fire to fight off the damp chill of the evening, and Blair grabbed his stack of notepaper and envelopes from the top of the bookcase.

“Another love letter, Chief?” Jim asked, amused, looking up from his task of feeding kindling to the small flames.

“Uh huh,” Blair agreed as he moved to the table. “Gonna write what I love most about you.” He grinned when he saw Jim flush with warmth that had nothing to do with the fire he was building. “Don’t worry, man,” he soothed. “I’ll be gentle.”

Jim huffed a laugh as he shoved in a few small logs and then stood to retrieve the stack of blank cards he’d bought for his own missives. “What I love most about Blair Sandburg,” he muttered, deliberately loud enough for Blair to hear. “Yeah, this little card ought to give me enough space.”

“You wound me,” Blair reposted with mock umbrage. “Surely you’ll need at least two of those teeny cards.”

Settling into a chair, Jim appeared to give that some serious thought before he winked and said, “Maybe even three, Chief.”

Laughing softly, shaking his head, Blair bent to his task.

 _Dear Jim,_

 _What do I love most about you? Man, I could fill a library in answer to that question, but I’ll try to keep this simple. I love most what you do your best to keep hidden ..-….-… your compassion. You try so hard to project this cold, aloof, remote image to the world, as if you are untouchable and untouched by all the shit that you have to deal with. But I know you. I know how deeply you do care and how hard you try to do your best every day to help those who are in trouble, and to bring to justice those who are a danger to our community. Sometimes, when you’re hurt and hiding it, I want so badly to take you into my arms to comfort you, but I know you need your space, your time, to come to grips with such hurts in your own way. So don’t think that icy manner you can project actually scares me off ..-….-… it’s just that I know that when you’re most hurt is also when you need to feel most strong and independent. But file this, Jim. I’ve got your number. I know you have a heart as big as that ocean out there and you hide what you feel only because you feel so much, so deeply. You might be able to fool most of the world, but you can’t fool me ..-….-… I’m the virtual stranger you brought into your home and allowed to make it my home, too, even when my perpetual mess, chatter, and clacking on my laptop late at night must have just about driven you crazy. I wish I could always be there to hold you when the bad times strike._

 _What else do I love? So, so many things. Your dry sense of humor cracks me up, even at times when I’m worried or scared. I admire your integrity and strength and courage so very much. You make me feel safe ..-….-… an odd thing for one man to admit to another, I guess. But I know you’d do anything to protect me, up to and including putting your own life on the line. Nobody has ever cared that much for me before and it never ceases to blow me away that you do. But, well, now that I’m going to be a cop, too, I’m so conscious that we’ll be confronting dangerous situations on a pretty regular basis. If something ever happens to me, I don’t want you to ever, not EVER, blame yourself. I am happiest when I am with you ..-….-… and would frankly be miserable without you in my life._

 _What else? Oh, you’ll love this ..-….-… your tenderness. Again, something kept well hidden from the world, but you’ve trusted me enough to show it to me. I do my best to show it to you, too, because you deserve it, deserve to know how I feel about you. You deserve to be loved, and loved well. Gosh, I sure hope nobody else ever reads this ..-….-… would ruin your tough guy image. But, since no one else will ever see these letters, let me also say right up front that I love the way you touch me ..-….-… my body, and my heart._

 _And I love all your pet names for me. Too many to list, I guess, but my favorite, the one I’ll always answer to when you call, is ‘Chief’. Don’t know why, but I really can’t resist you when you call me ‘Chief’. Use that name and I can promise you access to everything you want from me._

 _Well, I guess that’s enough baring of the soul for one letter. Don’t worry, I plan to send more so you will have no doubt about how I feel about you, how much I love you, and how much it means to me to be your partner. Have to say, it feels funny to write these letters out by hand when I’m so much more used to using the laptop, but there’s a kind of intimacy about this that really appeals to me. I hope that intimacy means as much to you as it does to me._

 _Yours always,  
Blair_

Blair chewed on his lip as he scanned the letter. ‘File’, like ‘key’, looked like little more than exaggerated ellipses and, for a moment, he wondered if Jim would figure it out. Glancing at his lover, his gaze narrowed as he thought about that. He’d bet that Jim would read and re-read these letters after his apparent ‘death’. And Jim never missed anything; that’s what made him such a great detective. He might not clue in right away, but he’d notice the differences between the two letters in terms of the dots and dashes used to separate thoughts. Would he get the references to the computer? Nodding to himself, Blair figured he would, as soon as he worked out the code for ‘file’. After that, the access message about ‘Chief’ should be clear enough for Jim to figure out that would be the username for the encrypted file. But the password was more problematical. ‘Partner’ just didn’t stand out the way it needed to. At least, not in this letter.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, worried that maybe he was being too cryptic … or maybe too obvious to anyone who was looking to see if he’d left clues behind. Damn, but he hated this. He wished he could just blurt it all out without this subterfuge. But he was already taking a big chance with these letters. He didn’t dare go any further, be any clearer. If anything ever happened to Jim or his mother just because he hated to leave Jim with a lie, he’d never forgive himself.

“Chief? You okay?” Jim’s voice cut across his anxious musings and jerked him back into the room.

When he looked at his partner, he saw Jim frowning with concern and staring at the letter in Blair’s hand. Damn it. Jim must have sensed his agitation and was wondering why a love letter was getting him all worked up. “I’m fine,” he replied hastily, as he folded and stuffed the letter into an envelope. “Just … just so much to say, you know? Don’t want to miss anything important.”

Giving him a quizzical look, Jim offered, “Writing these letters is supposed to be fun, right? Don’t get all bent out of shape over them, Blair. I, uh, I’m pretty sure I have a good idea about how you feel.” A slow smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Besides, if you forget something, I’m sure you’ll find another way to tell me whatever it is. You’re not exactly shy, you know – or tongue-tied.”

God, he loved this man, his kindness, his gentleness. “Damn,” he muttered and frowned at the envelope. “I forgot to put that in.”

Laughing, Jim stood to join him at the table. “So tell me now, squirt. What did you forget to write down?”

“You’d just be embarrassed, man,” Blair protested. “That’s why I’m writing this stuff. You hate it when I get all mushy.”

“Mushy, huh?” Jim echoed as he crossed his arms. “Well, I think I can take it. Lay it on me, sport.”

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Blair acquiesced. “I was just writing some of what I love most about you, right? And I forgot to mention your kindness and your gentleness.”

Jim’s brows shot up and he blushed. “Yep, too mushy,” he muttered with a sad shake of his head. “I’m gonna have to keep these letters under lock and key, aren’t I?”

“Probably,” Blair replied in all seriousness. “I think they’d seriously ruin your image, man.”

With a snort of laughter, Jim pulled Blair to his feet. “Tell you what, Sandburg, we’ll buy a safe and put your cards in it along with these letters.”

“Ooooo, mushy cards?” Blair teased, delighted.

“Very mushy,” Jim admitted ruefully, as he bussed Blair’s lips. “C’mon, babe. Let me show you a little kindness.”

**

Their fourth week at the cottage was characterized by the marathon jogs that Jim insisted they take every day, to build back their fitness levels. Or, build back his, Blair thought wryly as he panted to keep up. _It just builds fitness, pure and simple, for me._ Stumbling to a halt, puffing heavily, he bent over and braced his hands on his aching thighs. Running on sand was _not_ as easy as on solid ground.

Jim slowed and turned back. “C’mon, Chief,” he cajoled. “You gotta do better than this if you’re going to get through the obstacle course at the Academy.”

“Right,” Blair huffed as he stiffly straightened his back. “S-something else I forgot to write in that letter,” he said, breathing heavily as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “I love your body, man. It’s … it’s really magnificent, you know? You’re, like, unstoppable. And strong. And … and ….”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jim retorted, running in place. “And you’re trying to distract me with flattery. C’mon, get that cute little ass in gear, Sandburg. It’s only another mile.”

“Cute?” Blair laughed as he forced himself to get going. “You think my ass is cute?”

“Stop talking, Chief,” Jim counseled sagely, pacing along side, but he grinned widely. “You don’t have the breath to waste.”

Blair grunted but, considering the advice to be sound, he concentrated on breathing as he chugged along. Man, his legs felt like rubber. He had to dig down deep, but he managed to make it to the cottage before stumbling to a halt and once again bending over to drag in air.

Jim, though far from winded, had dropped a little behind, and he now called out, “Very cute!”

Snickering, Blair straightened and then leaned on Jim as they climbed the steps to the porch. “You are such a sap … and slave driver. Definitely a slave driver.”

“Gotta keep that ass in shape,” Jim returned unrepentantly.

“Selfish bastard, too,” Blair huffed as he braced his side with one hand and drew in deep breaths.

“And you, my little guppy, stink,” Jim chuckled. “What do you say I show you a little of my famous gentleness by giving you a bath and massage to make sure those muscles don’t seize up?”

“I say that’s a damned fine idea,” Blair concurred with a grin. “But no bath for you,” he went on, his gaze dwelling on Jim’s chest. “You can stay all sweaty and I’ll imagine you’re my slave.”

“Your wish is my command,” Jim quipped as he lightly shoved Blair into the cabin.

“Damned straight,” Blair replied.

“Not yet, but getting there,” Jim growled seductively.

Blair burst out laughing and, pulling Jim by the hand, staggered toward the bathroom.

**

 _Dear Jim,_

 _Well, we’re off to San Francisco in the morning, and I’m not sure we’ll have much time for writing letters there. Kinda looking forward to painting the town red and dancing till dawn! And since you’ve been determined to exhaust me by running up and down that beach all damned day, I’m just about dead on my feet, so I’ll keep this short. You’ve said these letters will be safely locked away, so I’m just going to say it straight out._

 _I love you. I love everything about you. And I love being your partner. Remember how in the beginning you didn’t want me to call myself that? But you did, almost the first day, call me your partner, I mean. And I loved it. And now, ‘partner’ has come to mean so much more. It’s become a kind of code or password that encompasses our work together, our friendship, and sharing a home and a life together._

 _‘Partner’ has come to be my favorite word in the dictionary. Being your partner is all I ever wanted, Jim. And so much more that I dared hope. You’ve fulfilled every dream I ever had, given me life, and become my world. I wish I had the eloquence to say all that is in my heart, but know that I’ve meant every word I’ve written in these letters. You’re the greatest gift of my life and I will always be grateful for your love._

 _Whatever the future holds, I will love you until I draw my last breath … and beyond, until the end of time._

 _Love Always,  
Blair_

An ellipsis written correctly – a last flag to go back and check out the others, to take a closer look, that he was certain that Jim wouldn’t miss or, if he did, the anomaly would nag at him until he figured it out. And he couldn’t say that ‘partner’ was the password any more clearly than this. Messages within messages, and he had, indeed, meant every word he’d written. Nodding to himself, Blair sealed the envelope and slipped it next to the others in his backpack. The only question now was whether to mail them or to leave them out where Jim would easily find them after … well, after. If he mailed them, they might arrive before Maybourne had called him in and he really couldn’t risk that. It had been more than a month since Maybourne had darkened his door … there couldn’t be much time left. Better to hold onto the letters. And then Jim would also read them in order, all at once. Or, at least, that’s what he figured Jim would do when ….

“Whatchya thinkin’, Chief?” Jim asked as he pulled two beers from the fridge.

Smiling up at him, Blair said, “I’m thinking about the great time we’re going to have in San Francisco.”

“Running up and down those hills, you mean? Yeah, that’ll be a great workout.”

“God save me from muscle-bound men made of iron,” Blair sighed as he twisted off the cap.

“Too late, Sandburg,” Jim replied, sounding pleased with himself. “You’re already mine.”

Blair’s eyes sparkled with devilment as he grinned and nodded slowly. “Yep, that I am. Lucky you.”

Jim laughed as he sipped at the bottle and nearly choked. Coughing, he looped an arm around Blair’s neck and hauled him close. “Lucky me,” he agreed, as he dropped a kiss on Blair’s head. “Lucky, lucky me.”

“And guess what?” Blair teased fondly. “You’re about to get a whole lot luckier.”

Jim clinked his bottle against Blair’s. “Drink up, Chief. Evening’s a’wasting. We got places to go, things to do.”

“Good thing we don’t have far to go,” Blair murmured as he kissed Jim, “to do those things.”

“Mmm,” Jim groaned softly, and then broke away to lead Blair to the sofa. There, he deftly plucked the bottle from Blair’s hand and set both beers on the coffee table, and took Blair in his arms. “So much to do,” he mumbled between kisses, “best we get started right away, huh?”

“Absolutely,” Blair moaned as he leaned his head back to give Jim access to his throat. Closing his eyes, he came close to purring at the feel of Jim’s hands and lips roaming his body. “I am like so down with that, man,” he gasped. Clasping Jim’s head, he lifted him back up to kiss him deeply, hungrily, as if he could never, ever get enough.

**

On the way south, Blair told Jim to take the scenic route along the old highway, through the Avenue of the Giants.

“These trees are so amazing,” Blair breathed as they drove along the curving road in the cool shadows of the massive ancient sequoias. “Some of them are more than two thousand years old. That’s the last centuries of the Roman Empire, and the birth of Christianity and Islam, the Dark Ages and Middle Ages. The discovery of the New World and the Renaissance … the American Revolution. Both world wars. Blows my mind to think these beauties lived through all that.”

Jim nodded as he peered through the windshield at the behemoths that surrounded them. “So, you chain yourself to any of these trees?”

“Ah, no, man. These guys are protected. Nah, it was one of their brothers, who had the bad luck to stand outside the park boundaries.”

“You manage to save him?”

Blair’s eyes clouded and he looked away as he shook his head.

Jim reached over to grip his shoulder. “You can’t save them all, Chief. You can only do your best.”

“I guess,” Blair sighed. “It just kills me, though, that some people can’t see value in beauty and history – too blinded by dollar signs.”

“Sometimes, it takes a while to see what’s priceless, Chief,” Jim returned quietly, with a quick glance at him. “Even when it’s right under your nose.” He paused and then went on, “Sometimes, it takes almost losing what matters most. But some of us get lucky, and we get a second chance.”

His throat too tight to speak, Blair reached up to cover Jim’s hand.

“I don’t say it enough, Blair, but you know I love you, right? More than … more than anything in my life.”

Nodding, he swallowed hard, and sniffed. “Yes, yes, I know.” He took a breath and added, “And I feel exactly the same way about you.”

**

Delighted to be in a city where two men could hold hands and kiss in public without anyone hardly even taking notice, they rambled around Pier 39 and Fisherman’s Wharf, drinking in the ambiance of the port. When Jim brushed at his nose, Blair told him to, “Turn it down, man,” and, with an indulgent laugh, he did. They sampled the famous Irish coffee at the Buena Vista Café, rode the cable cars halfway to the stars, and had a nightcap while enjoying the view from the Top of the Mark on Nob Hill.

On their second evening in the city, they found a dark little jazz bar where they could slow dance the night away. Cherishing the opportunity to be intimate in public, they spent a part of every subsequent evening there before returning to their hotel room and the big bed they shared.

“I can’t remember ever being happier than I am now,” Jim said reflectively as, hand in hand, they strolled the grounds on Telegraph Hill on their last day in the city.

Blair didn’t know if his heart would burst or break as he drew Jim toward a bench in the shade of a sycamore, intent upon seizing the opportunity to give Jim one last, crucial clue. “Me, either,” he murmured as they sat down and looked around at the gardens and the tower above them. Jim looped his arm around his shoulders and they sat quietly, simply enjoying the peace of being together.

After a while, Jim asked, “So, tell me, why do they call this Telegraph Hill?”

Blair laughed and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“What?” Jim exclaimed, feigning shock. “There’s a random piece of trivia that _you_ don’t know?”

“Guess you got me, big guy,” Blair replied with a grin. “However, I do know something about telegraphing – or, at least, Morse code.”

“You’re kidding? When would you have picked that up?”

“Well, when I was doing my Masters, I wrote a paper on ham radio operators,” Blair told him. “It’s an amazing group of people, Jim. Individuals spread all over the world, most of whom will never meet, and yet they form the bonds of friendship, sharing interests and information – often volunteering their help in emergencies to pass word along to relatives or to call in help. Man, they have such a rich history and … and I was really impressed by how strongly they affiliate with one another even though they live such vast distances apart. Anyway, I learned Morse code then to, you know, show them I was interested and to ease my way into their ranks.”

Laughing, Jim shook his head. “You’re a regular chameleon, Chief.”

Shrugging, Blair looked up at the glistening white tower. “They have a really poignant tradition. You know that every individual has their own call sign, right?” When Jim nodded, he went on, “Well, when one of them dies, they put out a world-wide message under the banner of ‘The Silent Key’, and retire that handle in honor and memory of the lost member of their community. I always thought that was very … moving, I guess. Never forgot it.”

He felt the warmth of Jim’s hand cup the back of his neck in wordless comfort. When he thought about the letters in his backpack, his eyes stung but he blinked the grief away. Leaning sideways, he kissed Jim’s cheek. “You hungry?”

“For lunch?”

“For whatever.”

Jim smiled down at him. “I could eat,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

**

Maybourne scratched his cheek as he scanned the surveillance report. “Huh,” he muttered to himself. “Seems like ole Jimmy does know how much Blair loves him. Wonder if I should tell Lee? Nah,” he decided upon reflection. Placing the file in his desk drawer, he mused, “Always good to hold a few cards up the sleeve. Never know when they might come in handy.” Next, he flipped open the file on the new training facility, noting the progress made with considerable satisfaction. After putting that folder in the drawer, too, he locked it, and flipped through his desk calendar.

“Let’s see,” he murmured. “They left San Francisco yesterday. They should be back in Cascade tonight. Sandburg, I have to say, your timing is perfect.”

Picking up the phone, he said to his secretary, “Cindy, I need a flight tonight to Cascade, Washington. And a military, not commercial, flight back – three seats. Oh, and get me Sergeant Wolseley, would you? He’ll be going with me.”

**

Blair waited until Jim was snoring softly before he eased out of bed and padded downstairs. While he waited for the laptop to boot, he thought once more about what he had decided to write.

An hour later, he shut down the machine. Rifling quietly in his backpack, he drew out the letters and slipped them under the computer, so only the corners showed. For a moment, he hesitated. Did that look too much like he was trying to hide them? Would that raise suspicions if they were found by anyone but Jim? Maybe. Pulling them back out, he placed them on the desk in plain sight. Each one was only labeled, ‘Jim’, and they were all unsealed. Nodding, he figured that seemed innocuous enough.

He glanced at the new uniforms on the bed. Since they’d cut it close in terms of time, and he’d be starting at the Academy in the morning, they’d stopped by the supply depot to pick them up on the way home. His vision blurred as he thought about how close he’d come to being Jim’s official partner. Impatiently, he brushed at his eyes with trembling hands, and then headed back up to bed.

Curling around Jim, he hoped with all his heart that Maybourne wasn’t yet ready for him. Each single day had become so precious … and he couldn’t bear to have them come to an end.

**

The next morning, Jim whistled appreciatively when Blair came out of his old bedroom. “Gotta say, Chief, you look mighty fine in that uniform.”

Blair snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right,” he said disparagingly as he gratefully accepted the cup of coffee Jim handed to him. “Remind me to tell you how really glad I am that we get to work in our street clothes.”

Jim chuckled as he ushered Blair to the table, where their light breakfast of bagels was ready and waiting. “Well, it’s only for a couple weeks, till you qualify on the range and satisfy them that you already have all the basic knowledge you need and then some. After that, you’ll only need the uniform for special occasions. You know, like parades.”

“Buttons and bows,” Blair snickered as he lathered guava jelly on his bagel. “You military and paramilitary types just love ‘em, don’t you?”

“Who you calling ‘you’, Junior? You’re one of us now.”

“Maybe not quite, but I soon will be,” Blair agreed with a smile. “Just think, Jim, you won’t ever again be able to say, ‘Stay in the truck, Sandburg,’ or ‘you’re not a cop’.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jim replied with a shudder. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you’ll soon be official. But it’s gonna take a while to get used to not being able to at least try to keep you behind me.” He gulped his coffee and urged, “Eat up, Chief. We’re running late.”

A few minutes later, they were at the door, ready to head out for the day. Jim caught Blair’s arm after he’d tucked his hair under his cap and settled it on his head, and gave him a kiss. “Love you, Chief. I hope everything goes great for you today.”

“Love you, too,” Blair replied with a brilliant smile. “Be careful when you’re out there without me, okay? Don’t pull any of that old ‘lone wolf’ shit.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Blair gave him a quick hug, and then they were dashing down the steps. Outside, they ran through the rain to their vehicles, waving cheerfully as they pulled out to go their separate ways.

**

Blair was nearing the outskirts of town, just before the road would begin winding up the mountain to the Academy, when a dark sedan crowded close and then pulled in abruptly ahead of him. Biting back a curse, he hit the brakes and wondered what the hell was wrong with the other driver when the sedan slowed to a crawl. Peering into the car that was so close in front, he saw …

… Maybourne, waving at him to pull over into the small lot of the convenience store they were approaching.

“Ah, no,” he gasped, and his chest tightened. Breathing shallowly to control his urge to either scream in fury or weep, he followed the sedan and parked beside it. He shut down the engine and then, with impotent, useless rage, banged his fist against the steering wheel.

Maybourne rolled down his window and called, “Leave your keys there and get in.”

Stiffly, Blair nodded and got out of the Volvo. Another man in a cadet uniform got out of Maybourne’s car and hastened through the rain to slide into Blair’s vehicle. Fists clenched, Blair stood in the rain and watched him drive off. “Good bye,” he whispered brokenly, to his life. To Jim.

“Come on,” Maybourne yelled impatiently.

Blair swiped at the wetness on his cheeks, yanked down the brim of his cap, and climbed into the sedan. Stonily staring out the windshield, he crossed his arms to hide his trembling hands and hold in the shudders of pain.

Though he felt as if he’d just been gutted, he’d be damned if he’d let Maybourne see him cry with helpless grief or rage with equally futile impotence.

**

Jim rapped lightly on the open door and, when Simon looked up and smiled widely, he ambled inside to sit down.

“Hey, welcome back,” Simon said jovially. “I have to say you’re looking well rested. Good thing. Things are as busy as they ever are around here. You want some coffee?”

“Sure,” Jim nodded with a smile of his own. “I’m glad to see you looking like you’ve fully recovered.”

“Yeah, got back a week ago,” Simon replied as he poured Jim a cup and refilled his own. Getting up, he carried them around his desk and handed the cup to Jim before perching on the edge of his desk. “Sandburg off to school this morning?”

“Uh huh,” Jim acknowledged as he blew over the hot liquid. He chuckled and added, “He said he’s glad we work in civvies.”

Simon laughed. “I’ll bet he is.” He took a sip of coffee and then asked, “So, he’s okay with everything – most specifically the weapons training?”

“Yeah,” Jim sighed as he sat back. “He’s not jumping for joy, but he’s fine with it.”

Studying him, noting the change in mood, Simon set his mug on the desk and crossed his arms. “Spill it. What’s bothering you?”

Jim flicked a look at him and then gazed at the window. “Blair … Blair’s worried about the backlash, about his press conference and about getting fast-tracked to a detective slot. He’s worried about his credibility and what that might mean for us.”

Simon grimaced and rubbed his mouth. “Well, he’s probably right to be concerned about it. There’ll be some who’ll be none too pleased, that’s for sure. And it might be a while before we can risk putting him on the stand. But … it’ll pass. Just give it time.”

Jim frowned. “Do you ever think that maybe I should just come clean? About –”

“I know what you mean,” Simon cut in. “And, no, I don’t. We’ve kept it all under wraps for a lot of good reasons, not least of which is your safety in the field. Blair handled it. And we all got what we wanted, right? He’ll soon be official. Let it go, Jim. You know as well as I do that that’s what he wants.”

Shrugging, Jim shifted forward in his chair and took a deep gulp of coffee. “Yeah,” he said, as he stood. “I know. So, are my new cases on my desk?”

“Uh huh. Joel’ll be working with you until Blair reports for duty. He’ll bring you up to speed after you’ve had a chance to go through the files.”

“Okay,” Jim agreed and headed to his desk.

He’d been reading for about an hour, when Simon stormed out of his office, shouting, “Jim, you’re with me. Let’s go!”

Startled, Jim bounded out of the office behind his boss and into the stairwell. “What’s going on?” he called.

“Tell you on the way,” Simon yelled back. “Come on, hustle!”

They were speeding along the street, lights flashing, when Jim demanded, “Okay, we’re on the way. What’s going down?”

Simon’s expression was rigidly controlled as he flicked a glance at him. “There’s been an accident. Looks bad.” He hesitated and then said, “I just got the call from Dispatch. Sandburg’s car went off the cliff road on the way to the Academy.”

Jim felt the words like a punch in the gut. For a long moment, he could only blink and stare at Simon as he gasped for breath. “How bad?” he finally managed. His gaze jumping to the street, he demanded, “Why aren’t we headed to the hospital? They must have gotten him there by now, right? Right?”

Simon’s jaw clenched and his knuckles whitened on the wheel. Pressing his lips together, he simply shook his head tightly.

Sick fear grew and twisted in Jim’s belly. “What aren’t you telling me?” he demanded hoarsely, all too aware of the desperation that edged his tone.

Heaving a sigh, Simon replied, “Like I said, it looks bad. They haven’t found his body yet. That’s why we’re going out there. To look. To find him.”

Jim sagged against the seat and stared blindly out the window while he tried to get past the fear and think. The cliff road was nearly a sheer drop to the rocks and sea below. No body ….

He felt like he might vomit and covered his mouth with his hand. Tears stung his eyes but he ruthlessly blinked them away. Blair might have jumped clear or been flung a distance from the vehicle. He might be lying hurt on the rocks. He’d find him. Blair would be okay.

After a drop of more than three hundred feet? Onto rocks?

A shudder rippled through him, leaving him feeling chilled to the bone; he clenched his fists and held onto his refusal to believe that Blair … that Blair ….

He shook his head, unwilling to countenance the thought. His eyes sought the clouded sky. “I’ll find him,” he rasped.

Simon glanced at him with eyes filled with compassion. Reaching out, he briefly gripped Jim’s shoulder. “Hold on,” he encouraged. “We’ll be there soon.”

Jim gave a single, sharp nod and tried not to think about the fact that the accident had to have occurred more than an hour before, or imagine why the cops on the scene hadn’t yet found his partner.

The journey seemed interminable and only got slower when they started up the steep two-lane road to the scene of the accident near the crest. Traffic was backed up and barely moving. Finally, Jim couldn’t stand it. “Let me out,” he directed. “It’ll be faster on foot.”

Simon had barely touched the brake when he shoved open the door and leapt onto the road to race flat-out up the hill. Rounding a curve, he spotted two patrol cars, lights flashing, and a uniform directing traffic around the skid marks on the pavement that led to a ragged break in the low wooden guardrail that paralleled the narrow graveled shoulder. Jim scarcely noticed that two other cops were talking with a civilian in a trench-coat. Panting more from anxiety than effort, he looked out over the cliff and nearly reeled back when he saw the Volvo upside down and smashed on the rocks below, the sea heaving and crashing over it. The driver’s door was hanging open.

His gaze scoured the rocks ahead and behind the wreck, checked out the cliff but … nothing. He searched the sea and wasn’t aware that he was shouting, “SANDBURG! **_SANDBURG!!_** ”

One of the cops came toward him, shaking his head, and tried to draw him back from the edge, but he shook the man off and yelled again. And again. Blair had to be there. Had to be. Oblivious to the rain that pelted down upon him, he narrowed his eyes and studied the smashed car. Shifted position and bent forward so that he could see inside. He didn’t see any blood but the raging sea would have washed it away. His nostrils flared as he sought his lover’s scent on the wind and he listened with his whole being for Blair’s heartbeat.

Nothing. He shook his head and told himself to concentrate. To try harder.

Still nothing.

He had to get down there. Blair could be wedged inside the vehicle, unable to get out. Desperately, he sought a way down but, beyond the lip of rock that jutted out from the road for a few feet just below the highway, it was a sheer drop. Increasingly frantic, he looked and looked for rocks that would give him a hand-hold, but there was nothing.

“A rope,” he yelled at the uniform who lingered at his side. “I need a rope to get down there.”

“The Fire Rescue Squad has been and gone, Detective,” the cop told him with studied calm. “The vehicle’s empty.”

“What? But, he’s gotta be down there,” Jim gabbled, shaking his head. “I have to go down there.”

Simon appeared and looked over the edge. Looking sick, he pulled back and addressed the cop. “Bring me up to speed.”

“Simon, I’ve got to get to the car,” Jim said. “This guy says Blair’s not down there. But he has to be down there somewhere.”

“Just take it easy, Jim,” Simon told him and gripped his arm firmly. “Let’s get the facts, okay?”

“Facts?” he shouted, gesturing furiously down at the wreck. “It’s been nearly two hours! There’s no time to waste!”

“Jim! Calm down!” Banks ordered sharply. “I want to know what happened here.”

Jim angrily gritted his teeth and looked away, his gaze again searching the rocks, the water, his hearing stretching out, as he listened impatiently to the uniform’s report. The words reverberated in his head as he tried to find Blair’s heartbeat. But the crash of the waves foiled his efforts. Panic grew, crushing his chest, and he panted for breath.

“A witness, the driver of the car behind Sandburg, said another vehicle came up fast, passing them both and then, just before the curve up ahead, cut too fast and close in front of the Volvo, nearly sideswiping it. Sandburg apparently tried to brake and swerve out of the way, but his wheels skidded on the wet pavement and the car went over. I’m sorry, sir. I know he worked with MCU for a lot of years. The Rescue Unit’s been here and there’s no sign of him down there. With the waves so rough … well, he probably got washed out to sea. There’s a bad undertow around the point. Even if he survived the crash ….” The cop’s voice drifted off, and he shrugged helplessly.

Simon pressed his lips together and bowed his head, his shoulders slumping for a moment before he straightened. “And the other car. The one that swerved into Blair’s path?”

“Kept going. The witness didn’t get much of a look at it. Just a dark, late model sedan.” The cop looked at Jim and then back at Simon. “I’m sorry,” he said again before turning away.

“He’s not dead,” Jim insisted.

“Jim,” Simon said gently, drawing him back from the edge and then gripping his arms hard when he struggled to break free. “Jim! Can you see anything? Hear anything?”

“No, no, but that doesn’t mean –”

“Jim, he’s not down there,” Simon said slowly, carefully.

“What are you saying?” he demanded frantically. “I’m telling you, he’s not dead. Blair’s not dead. He can’t … he can’t ….” But his voice caught at the sight of tears in Simon’s eyes, and his own flooded as his knees gave way and he sagged to the ground. Doubling over, he moaned like a mortally wounded animal.

Dropping down beside him, Simon wrapped strong arms around him, pulling him close. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“No, oh, no, no,” Jim keened raggedly, oblivious to everything but the horror and anguish of a reality too terrible to accept, a reality he had to deny or he’d go mad. “Oh, God. Blair.”

Simon held him until the shaking stopped, and then helped him to his feet. Dazed, Jim looked again at the wreck below, and then Simon pulled him away and back to the car.

He slumped in the seat and covered his face with his hands. Simon got in behind the wheel, but just sat there and gripped his shoulder.

“I love him,” Jim whispered, his feelings a jumbled mess of numb disbelief and sick, helpless loss too great to grasp.

“I know,” Simon murmured sorrowfully. “So did he. And he loved you, Jim.”

Sniffing, Jim scraped his face and sat back, leaned his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. “I can’t take it in. I can’t believe ….”

“You’re in shock.”

Not wanting to hear it, Jim straightened and demanded, “But what if he’s out there, hurt? We need to keep looking. I can’t give up. What am I doing sitting here!” He reached for the door handle but Simon tightened the grip on his shoulder.

“Jim, don’t … don’t do this. You saw the car. The waves crashing over it. I don’t want to believe it, either. But we both _know_ that if _you_ couldn’t see him or hear him or sense him … he’s not there. He’s gone, Jim. He’s gone.”

Jim angrily wheeled on his friend, wanting to protest, to deny … but, at the sight of the bleak grief in Simon’s eyes, the words died on his lips. He felt something break and shatter inside then, with pain greater than any he’d ever known, and he groaned as he sagged and bowed his head. Slowly, slowly, he nodded and felt a howl of raging grief build in his chest. Ruthlessly, he tried to lock down his emotions. He _had_ to, had to shut that inconceivable, clawing pain away, or he really would go mad. He didn’t want to believe it. Deep down, still couldn’t even begin to accept it. But he couldn’t let himself fall apart. Not here. Not now.

Determined to hold himself together, he took a breath and straightened.

Simon awkwardly patted his shoulder, and then started up the engine. He drove around the accident site and a little further along to the pullout beyond the curve that gave him enough room to swing the car around and head back into town. “I’ll take you home,” he said. “And then I’ll go back and tell the others.”

Jim nodded but couldn’t speak. Staring at the sky, he willed himself not to cry. But his throat thickened and, wrapping his arms around himself, he could barely suppress the sob as tears leaked from his eyes.

 _Blair!_ his mind wailed into the silence. _Ah, God … Blair …._

**

Maybourne had followed the Volvo up the hill toward the Academy, and Blair had wondered what was going to happen next. Just before the crest, Maybourne slowed, holding up the traffic behind them. They’d just come around the curve in time to see the Volvo accelerate and then brake hard, leaving skid marks on the wet pavement before the car and the mystery driver soared off the mountain road.

Blair had gasped in shock but Maybourne just chuckled. “There’s a lip of rock along this curve, just beneath the guardrail,” he had explained. “The sergeant will drop onto it as the car goes over. Don’t worry. He knows what he’s doing.” They’d turned around in the pullout just past the place where the car had gone over, and Maybourne had casually mentioned that the empty car parked there would be used by Sergeant Wolseley after he’d completed his task of faking Blair’s death.

Then they’d headed back into the city.

“What are we doing here?” Blair demanded, his tone brittle, when Maybourne pulled up on the street outside the loft more than an hour after the ‘accident’ had occurred.

“Ah, well, not that I don’t trust you,” Maybourne drawled as he fiddled with equipment on the seat between them, opening a small antennae device and pointing it at the balcony of the loft. He flicked a switch on the portable machine and they heard nothing but a slight hiss of static from the empty apartment. “But, before we fly back east, I need to assure myself that Detective Ellison is completely unaware of our arrangement.”

Blair’s lips thinned. “Why don’t you just go in and search the place to make sure I didn’t leave some hidden message for him?” he challenged.

Cocking a brow, Maybourne smiled and replied, “You’ve been with the man for the past six weeks. If you were going to tell him, you would have by now.” Sitting back, he advised, “We could be here a while, so you might as well relax. Unless you’d like me to bring you up to date on the new training center? I think you’ll be pleased with all the arrangements.”

Blair stared at him balefully and then, shaking his head, he turned away. He couldn’t care less about the center. Acid roiled in his belly and it was all he could do to keep from throwing up.

An hour and a half later, he saw Simon’s car park a few cars ahead and his throat tightened at the sight of Jim in the passenger seat. Crossing his arms, he tensed. He didn’t want to see this – but it might be the last time he ever saw Jim, so he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

**

When he pulled up outside the loft, Simon asked, “You gonna be okay until I get back?”

Jim sniffed and nodded numbly. His hand fumbled and finally found the door handle, and he pushed it open. Just before he climbed out, he grated, “I’m sorry, Simon. I know … I know you cared about him, too. I just … I just can’t ….”

“I know,” Simon rumbled. “It’s okay. You go on upstairs and lie down. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“You don’t have to –”

“Yeah, I do. I don’t want to be alone right now, either, okay?”

Again he nodded and then got out of the car. Head bowed and shoulders slumped, feeling like an old, old man, he trudged slowly through the rain toward the entrance.

**

Tears stung Blair’s eyes when he saw how broken Jim looked. Unable to restrain himself, barely conscious that he was speaking aloud, his voice cracked as he whispered, “Ah, man, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Halfway to the building, Jim stalled and stiffened. When he began to turn toward them, Maybourne grabbed Blair’s shoulder to yank him down below eye level. Blair wanted to do nothing so much as fight free and launch himself out of the car. But he forced himself to stay still. As hard as it was, harder than anything he’d ever had to do in his life, for Jim’s safety and Naomi’s, he had to go through with the charade. He didn’t dare speak again and he wondered if Jim could hear his heart beating – but a horn blasted from somewhere nearby. Closing his eyes, Blair hoped Jim hadn’t had his hearing wide open.

After a long moment, Maybourne muttered, “Okay, he’s gone inside and the other guy has driven off.” When Blair straightened, the colonel continued, “His hearing is really phenomenal, isn’t it? Never thought he’d be able to hear a whisper from that far away.” Glancing at Blair, he muttered, “That was a stupid stunt, talking where he could hear you. You almost blew everything.”

Before Blair could respond, someone in a trench coat approached the car and rapped on Maybourne’s window. When he bent down, Blair saw that it was Wolseley, and the coat no doubt covered a very muddy cadet uniform.

Maybourne lowered the window and asked, “Any problems?”

“No, sir,” Wolseley reported. “I pretended to have witnessed the ‘accident’, just as you directed, but no one but you actually saw the car go over the side. From what I observed at the scene, the ruse worked. It was clear that Ellison and the man with him believe Mr. Sandburg to have been killed in the crash. Ellison fought for a while, wanting to go down and check the wreck. And then he just collapsed. Had to be helped back to the car.”

“Very good,” Maybourne acknowledged. “We’ll meet you at the terminal in an hour.”

Wolseley sketched a salute and turned away.

**

While he waited for the elevator, Jim rubbed his still blocked ears. He’d thought he’d heard Blair’s voice and, desperate for a miracle, hope flooding him, he’d turned to search the street. But there’d only been strangers hurrying by, most carrying open umbrellas, and cars parked along the curb. Only one, some distance behind Simon’s, was occupied. Jim had a vague impression of a blue air force uniform, but he hadn’t paid attention. He’d been reaching out with his hearing, and he’d thought – been almost sure – that he’d heard Blair’s heartbeat under the rush and swish of cars along the wet street. But a horn had blasted, nearly deafening him. As he’d flinched in pain, he’d realized that he was acting more than a little crazy. What would Blair be doing on the street? He wasn’t here. He was … he was ….

Jim had covered his eyes with one hand and wheeled back to the building. Needing to be alone, he stumbled in his urgency to get inside and nearly fell.

The elevator finally came and he staggered inside to lean against the wall. He felt … he didn’t know what he felt. Detached and numb, as if this was all just a terrible nightmare that couldn’t be real. But underneath that sense of disorientation and denial, black despair dug talons into his gut, so that he wanted to either rage in agony or crumble – maybe both.

Upstairs, he plodded along the hall and let himself into the apartment. For a moment, he just stood there, looking around, feeling lost and trying to get his bearings. His chest felt so tight he could scarcely breathe, and his throat was thick with unshed tears. Then, Blair’s room drew him irresistibly across the floor. He paused in the doorway before forcing himself to move inside to stand by the desk and stare at the laptop. That machine had been so much a part of Blair, practically another appendage. He’d rarely gone anywhere without it.

Jim traced his fingertips across the top and then the letters stacked to the side caught his eye. Frowning, he saw that the top one had his name on it – and then he remembered. The love letters. Blair hadn’t mailed them after all. His eyes burned as he recalled watching Blair at the table in their little cottage, his expression so intense as he’d scribbled the words. Jim reached out hesitantly, and then stopped. Another sob threatened when he realized that Blair would never get to see the cards he’d written, never read the words that Jim had painstakingly labored over, to get them right, to say as well as he could what Blair meant to him and how much Blair was loved.

If Blair couldn’t read those cards, what right did he have to read what Blair had written to him?

But … he couldn’t not read them. Blair would want him to read them. A tear trickled down his cheek as he gathered up the envelopes and left the room to plod upstairs.

Blair’s scent and that of the love they’d made that morning still permeated the air of the apartment and hung heaviest here, in their bedroom. Jim’s face crumpled when he saw the unmade bed. They’d lingered too long in one another’s arms that morning, and had had to rush to get dressed. Too long? Dear God, he wished they’d never left that bed. That Blair was still there, smiling up at him, reaching out to him.

Sniffing, he sat down on the edge of the bed and, one by one, he opened the letters and read them. It was hard, because the writing kept blurring before his eyes, and his chest felt as if it was imploding. But he persevered and then went back to the second last, and the line where Blair had written that he just had to call ‘Chief’ and Blair would always respond. Always.

Tears brimmed in his eyes and he drew a shuddering breath. “Chief?” he rasped, barely able to speak, as he looked around with wretched hopefulness. But he was alone, completely alone. Shaking his head at his foolishness, he sighed brokenly, “Ah, Chief ….”

Gripping the letters, he reached out for Blair’s pillow. Burying his nose in it, he curled on his side. He didn’t want to cry. Hell, he never cried. Raged. Got icy with grief. But he’d always denied himself the right to cry.

And he did not want to acknowledge that this was all real. That Blair was gone. But the devastating pain and bitter grief overwhelmed him. No longer constrained by his desperate control, heaving sobs broke from deep in his chest.

**

For a while, there hadn’t been much to hear from the apartment. Just a door opening, footsteps. A long silence and then more footsteps. The distant, faint crinkle of paper.

And then they heard the heartbroken plea, “Chief? Ah, Chief,” followed by the wracking, guttural, tearing sobs of a strong man undone by a grief too great to contain.

“Damn it! Stop! Just stop!” Blair yelled in fury and hideous sorrow as he slammed at and smashed the machine, breaking off the heartbreaking sounds. “Leave him alone. Just … just leave him alone.”

“Well, I think I heard enough,” Maybourne allowed complacently, apparently completely unmoved by the fact that he’d done untold damage to two innocent lives. “Nobody’s that good an actor. It’s clear that you didn’t clue him in.”

But Blair wasn’t listening. His fist pressed to his mouth, tears glimmering in his eyes, his gaze was locked on the balcony doors. In vain, he tried to see through their blank, mirror-like façade to the upper loft and his lover.

But he didn’t need to see to be able to picture Jim curled on their bed, the letters clutched in his fists.

Blair had _never_ seen Jim cry, not one single tear.

Knowing that Jim was up there, calling out and weeping for him, damned near destroyed him.

Maybourne started the sedan and pulled into traffic. Though they quickly put the apartment building behind them, all Blair could see were those blind balcony windows. Despair gave way to incandescent fury. For the first time in his life, Blair wanted to kill so badly he could taste the bile of hatred and nearly choked on it. He shook with his impotent need to wreak violence and vengeance.

“Let it go, kid,” Maybourne counseled mildly. “He’ll get over it and your life back there is done. The sooner you accept the fact that there’s nothing you can do about it, the better off you’ll be.”

Blair’s gaze narrowed and his jaw clenched. He wouldn’t – couldn’t – speak. Rigid with rage and rendered inarticulate by the depth of his loathing, awash in guilt and grief, he sat with his arms tightly crossed and his hands fisted.

**

After the emotional storm ended, Jim laid stunned on the bed, unable to think, unwilling to imagine the desolate future. Time passed unnoticed as he listened numbly to the rain beating on the skylight. He wanted to believe that Blair was out there, somewhere, alive, but his rational mind wouldn’t allow his heart that solace. He’d thought, in the midst of his wild sorrow, that he’d heard Blair cry out to him to ‘stop’ … but his mind had shut down that hope with withering contempt. Belief in such impossibilities would lead to madness. This wasn’t the first time his life had gone to hell. He’d been hurt deeply before and he’d survived.

Hurt?

 _Not like this_ , his heart wailed. Never like this.

Breathing shallowly, he clutched Blair’s pillow for solace, and stared blindly into the dreary half-light of the rainy day. His eyes felt dry and scratchy and he blinked slowly, as if his body was too exhausted to manage even that small effort. The silence weighed upon him. Loneliness pervaded his being. He felt cold and lost. Empty.

He caught a distant scent of cigars and heard Simon come in quietly. Heard him turn on the tap and fill the coffee pot, rummage in the cupboard for the coffee, and turn on the machine.

Sighing heavily, Jim pushed himself upright and rubbed his face. He swallowed against the dry rawness of his throat and ran his fingers over his head, and had the oddest feeling of being not quite in his body. Standing, he mastered the slight sense of vertigo and carefully made his way downstairs.

He knew Simon was watching him, but he couldn’t look at his friend. Couldn’t handle the sadness and concern he knew he’d see in those too-knowing, too compassionate warm brown eyes.

“You okay?” Simon asked softly.

He shook his head. Moving into the kitchen, he took two mugs from the cupboard and placed them on the counter with the exaggerated care more reminiscent of a drunk than a sober man. “You?”

“No,” Simon sighed. “The others,” he started, but his voice cracked and he had to clear his throat. “When I told them, they cried, Jim. They all cried. It’s just so _damned_ unfair.”

Still facing the cupboards, Jim’s lips thinned. He nodded jerkily and stuck his hands in his pockets to hide their trembling.

“I, uh, I called the Academy; told them why he never reported,” Simon went on doggedly. “And, and I talked to the Coast Guard. They’ll put out an advisory, but they think it’s unlikely that he’ll ever be found.”

Jim flinched and bowed his head, turning his face further away from Simon.

“Joel will organize the memorial service. You want me to call Naomi for you?”

Naomi. God, he hadn’t thought about her. Sorrow flared anew, consuming him and his knees nearly gave out. He had to lean his hands on the counter to stay upright. How could he tell her this? His heart cringed and rebelled in protest, but his mind knew its duty. “No, no, I’ll call her … or at least try to reach her. If she’s not still in LA, I don’t know where she might be.”

“Go sit down,” Simon directed kindly. “I’ll bring the coffee.”

Jim turned away. His muscles felt hard and unyielding as he moved stiffly across the floor. Easing down onto the couch, he sat staring at the floor, his hands loosely clasped between his knees. Simon placed a mug of coffee on the table in front of him, but he had no inclination to reach for it.

“You want to talk?”

“No,” he rasped. Leaning his head back against the cushion, he closed his eyes and wished he could so easily blot out the hateful knowledge that Blair was gone.

They sat in silence as the hours passed and the day darkened into dusk.

When the phone rang, Simon rose to answer it. He talked briefly, listened, thanked whoever it was. Distantly, Jim realized he couldn’t hear who was on the line, but he didn’t care.

Coming back into the living room, Simon settled again on the love seat. “That was Joel. The service will be held the day after tomorrow at two in the afternoon. He hopes it’s okay that he asked his pastor to conduct it in their church. Blair didn’t seem all that, uh, affiliated with his traditional heritage – or any other, for that matter.”

“That’ll be fine,” Jim replied, his voice empty of emotion. Making an effort to rouse himself, he straightened. “Blair would … Blair would appreciate Joel doing this for him.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured, too,” Simon rumbled thickly.

Exhaling slowly, determined to keep it together, Jim pushed himself to his feet and went to the phone. He punched in the speed dial number Blair had programmed in case Jim ever had to reach Naomi, and waited through the distant ringing. This was Blair’s mother. Blair would want him to be gentle. And kind. He remembered that Blair had said he valued Jim’s gentleness and kindness. Shaking his head, he fought back the lump in his throat.

 _“Hello?”_ her musical voice lilted on the line.

“Naomi? It’s Jim,” he said, and took a breath to steady himself.

 _“Jim?” she exclaimed. He heard the first tinge of fear as she asked urgently,_ “Is everything alright?”

“I’m sorry, Naomi. I’d give anything not to have to tell you this.” He heard her gasp as he continued as gently as he could manage, “Blair was in a bad accident today. This morning. His car went off a cliff and crashed on the rocks. He’s … Blair’s … he’s gone, Naomi.” He hated that his voice cracked but he couldn’t help it. “Blair’s gone,” he whispered again as he fought back tears.

He heard her small wailing protests, _“no, no, no,”_ and listened to her weeping. Taking a deep breath, he rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. And he was pathetically grateful when Simon came to stand beside him, to grip his shoulder and lend support. “I’m sorry,” he said into the phone. “I’m more sorry than I can say.”

She sniffled and murmured brokenly, _“I know, Jim. I know you loved him, too.”_

“Yeah,” he rasped, his breathing increasingly ragged. “Is there someone I can call to be with you right now? You shouldn’t be alone.”

 _“No, that’s alright,”_ she replied, sounding distracted and somehow old and frail. _“A friend is visiting. I’m not alone. What about you?”_

“Simon is here.”

 _“Good. Let him help you, Jim,”_ she urged, tears in her voice. _“Blair … Blair would ....”_

“I know,” he supplied when her voice caught. Needing the painful conversation to be over, he told her, “The service is going to be the day after tomorrow. Let me know when you’re flying in.” And, though it was the last thing he wanted, he added, “You can stay here.”

 _“I’ll call you later,”_ she whispered, and then the line went dead.

He hung up and leaned his forehead against the cool wall. “I … I don’t know if I can do this, Simon.”

“We’ll help as much as we can,” Simon promised as he drew Jim around and, though Jim tried to resist, enfolded him in strong arms. “You won’t be alone, Jim. Even if you try, we won’t let you retreat from us. Blair would kick our asses if we did, and you know it.”

He shuddered and curled his fists into the back of Simon’s sweater. His hard-won control snapped again and he quaked with his loss and his unquenchable, overwhelming sorrow.

**

Simon spent the night on the sofa and stayed until Joel brought Naomi from the airport, late the next morning. She took one look at Jim and burst into tears. With tender care, he gathered her close and held her, giving what comfort he had to share.

Joel looked away, his hand covering his mouth. Simon’s face creased with grief and he shook his head wearily. “We’ll just leave you two alone for awhile. Give me a call if there’s anything you need.”

Jim nodded, watching mutely as his friends left the apartment, though he was desperate not to be left alone with Blair’s mother. He didn’t want Blair to be dead, either. So much for what he wanted or didn’t want.

He guided her into the living room and got her settled in the chair. “Can I make you a cup of tea?” he offered.

She dabbed at her eyes and nodded. “I’d appreciate that, thank you.”

It gave him something to do, at least for a few minutes. Once the tea had steeped, he poured two mugs and carried them from the kitchen. He handed one to her, and then sank down on the sofa.

“Tell me more about what happened,” she said. “About the accident.”

He shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. It was raining and the road was slippery. He was on his way to the Academy – it was going to be his first morning there. Another car passed on the curve and then cut him off so sharply that Blair braked and swerved. His car skidded out of control on the wet pavement and … and crashed through the guardrail.” He stopped and then forced himself to go on, for her sake if not for his, because he could too easily visualize Blair’s last moments of terror and crushing pain. Had he died in the crash or drowned? Jim flinched away from the question, unable to deal with it. “It would have been fast, Naomi. So fast. He wouldn’t have suffered.”

Her gaze fell away as she nodded and then sipped gingerly at the hot tea. When she didn’t say anything, he grated with bitter regret, “I know you feared that being a cop, even being around cops, would cost him his life. I’m … I’m sorry you were right. If it wasn’t for me, he’d never have been on that road.”

“Don’t say that, Jim,” she retorted, her tone fierce. “Don’t you ever blame yourself for this. Blair loved you and he was doing what he wanted to do. There was nothing that he wanted more than to be your partner. I hate that he’s gone, but it was an accident. Just a terrible, horrible accident. If anyone is to blame, it’s that driver that cut him off. Does anyone know who that was?”

“No,” Jim gusted with a sharp shake of his head as he leaned forward and cradled the mug of tea in his hands, needing the warmth to counter the persistent chill that had enveloped him. “We’ll probably never know.”

She studied him with wide, solemn eyes, and then leaned forward to set her mug on the coffee table. Entwining her fingers on her knee, she asked, “Jim … were you and Blair happy? Had you … had you worked out what happened between you?”

His throat thickened. Unable to reply immediately or meet her solemn gaze, he nodded. Finally, he said, “Yes, we, uh, we worked everything out. Everything.” His voice caught and he cleared his throat. Flicking a look at her, he struggled to go on. “The last six weeks were … were magic, Naomi. We went away together, spent a month by the ocean. Some time in San Francisco. The last … last morning, he hugged me and gave me a big smile before he left for the Academy. We were … we were happy.”

Her expression softened. He caught her lifting her eyes to the upper bedroom and he flushed. Seeing that, she smiled poignantly. “I’m glad,” she said simply, and then sighed. “Maybe it was meant to be.”

“What?” he demanded, furious that she could say such a thing. No way could any of this, this _abomination_ be ‘meant to be’!

Her hands fluttered, and then she moved to sit beside him. Taking his stiff hand in her own, she said quietly, “The last time Blair and I talked, he told me he drowned several months ago. That he’d died, but you brought him back.”

Jim flinched, but she wouldn’t let him pull away. “Jim, he told me he was so glad you had wrought that miracle because, just before, the two of you had fought. He said his last thoughts had been how much he hated that you’d parted in anger, and he told me how he would have hated to have had it all end like that between you.”

Looking away, but still clutching his hand tightly, she went on, “Blair believed that all things happen for a purpose. I think … I think he believed that he was allowed to come back so that the two of you would have another chance to … to make things right between you. He told me what he most wanted was to be your partner, only he was afraid that wouldn’t be possible. The next day … the next day you gave him that. You gave him what he most wanted. And, Jim? Since you called, I’ve thought a lot about that last talk we had, that last evening. Looking back, remembering everything he said, how he recalled special times we’d shared … well, I think he may have sensed that he didn’t have much time. That what happened months ago was only a reprieve that wouldn’t last forever.”

He clenched his jaw and shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about this.

But she went on relentlessly in her gentle voice, “Jim, this is a terrible loss. I can’t … I can’t hardly even think about it.” She frowned, evidently struggling for her own control. “But I know Blair would have been extraordinarily happy to live his life by your side – to have everything good between you. He’d want you to have those memories, not harsh ones. Not bitter ones. You were the most important person in his life and he loved you more than anyone, even me.” She sniffed and blinked back the moisture that glistened in her eyes. “He wouldn’t ever want to leave you, but if it had to happen, he’d be glad the two of you had time to be together. To be happy with one another. Jim, you must know how very much he loved you.”

Looking away, once again waging a struggle with emotions that threatened to unman him, he nodded. “I just hope,” he husked, “that he knew how much I love him.”

“I’m sure he did,” she soothed. “And if he didn’t before, he knows now.”

“Now?” he echoed, a frown puckering his brow. “There is no ‘now’.”

Smiling with ethereal serenity that set his teeth on edge, she disagreed. “The soul is immortal, Jim. Only his body is gone. We may not be able to see him, but Blair is here with us.”

“No,” he disputed, but without heat, only out of the hollowness he felt. “No, I’d be able to feel him if he was here. I can’t explain it but I’m sure I’d sense him, be able to see him. He’s not here, Naomi. I don’t know where he is … but he’s _not_ here.”

Perplexed by his certainty, she frowned again. “Knowing Blair,” she muttered to herself, “he might already have been born into another body. But … no,” she argued with herself. “No, I’m sure he wouldn’t abandon you. He loved you too much. In some way, your souls are entwined. He’ll be with you for the rest of your life.”

God, he couldn’t stand this, this utter certainty she had when he knew, he _knew_ , goddamnit, that Blair wasn’t with him. Couldn’t stand this endless discussion about what? Blair’s spirit? How did it help? What difference did it make? Anger surged. Pulling away from her, he stood to pace in agitation. He hated this mystical shit, always had. He wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t. Between experiencing the jungle at the fountain when Blair had come back to him, and having met Molly, he knew without doubt that there was more than could be explained by what passed as real life – knew that the soul did go on. Part of what had ripped him apart the day before was that Blair hadn’t come when he’d called out for him. He’d half – _more than half_ – believed Blair would appear before him. That wouldn’t be enough, not nearly enough, but he ached to see Blair again. Ached to talk with him, to touch him and hold him.

Stopping to stare out the window, he felt shame to know that he did feel as if Blair had abandoned him. It wasn’t rational and wasn’t fair to Blair’s memory, but that’s how he felt. Why hadn’t Blair appeared to him? Had it been that easy to let go? To flash out into the cosmos or wherever unbridled souls no longer tied to mortal flesh went?

He heard her rise and come to stand beside him. Felt the warmth of her hand on his back and he tried not to stiffen or flinch away.

“Trust him, Jim. And believe in him,” she urged. “Blair would _never_ abandon you. He’d give up everything else, but he’d never give up on you. You know that don’t you? After all that’s happened between you? You _must_ know that. If he’s not here, it’s because something is keeping him away.”

“What could keep him away?” he asked, albeit reluctantly, but he wanted to believe her. Wanted that so badly.

“I don’t know,” she replied as she gently rubbed his back. “I can’t imagine any force greater than the love he felt for you. It was a … a tangible thing. A power of its own. Irresistible.”

Jim searched the sky as he thought about what she’d said, her utter conviction, and struggled against his rational mind that told him it was all crazy. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly, and tried to let his taut muscles relax. Did he believe in Blair? Did he trust him enough to believe he’d be there if he could? Jim nodded to himself. Yes. Yes, he did believe that – and with that sure knowledge, he felt a kind of peace. Blair would never abandon him, not willingly. He knew that with unshakeable certainty.

But, then, the questions remained. Why couldn’t he sense anything of Blair? Why was he so certain that Blair was nowhere nearby?

Because, very simply, Blair just wasn’t there.

Wasn’t with him.

And that left him wondering why.

He puzzled over the questions for the rest of the afternoon and evening, even while listening to Naomi regale him with stories of Blair’s childhood and youth, and he told her stories in his turn. He was surprised that they were able to find comfort in one another and he smiled with rueful wistfulness as he climbed the stairs to his bed that night. Blair would be glad that he and Naomi had finally found common ground and were getting along.

He picked up the letters that were lying crumpled on the night table and tenderly smoothed them out. And then he read them again, slowly this time, savoring the words, imagining Blair’s voice in his mind.

“I love you, too, Chief,” he whispered as he delicately ran his fingers over the written words. “More than I thought I could ever love anyone. I miss you, buddy. It hurts bad, Blair. Really bad. I wish …. I wish I could see you. Why aren’t you here, babe? Why aren’t you here?”

Lying down, he read the letters again and then set them aside. Turning off the light, he lay on his back, staring up at the night sky. What would hold Blair’s spirit away from him? “Chief?” he ventured again, into the darkness. Frowning, he rolled on his side and punched the pillow.

He stared at the letters for a long time as he remembered their last weeks together. There was something niggling at the back of his mind, something he couldn’t quite bring forth. Something that he was missing. Sighing, telling himself he was too tired to think straight, he closed his eyes.

Something about the letters. Something about ….

But the thought drifted away as sleep stole over him.

**

Blair stood at the window of the high-rise hotel overlooking Washington D.C., but his thoughts were on the other side of the continent. He couldn’t stop thinking about Jim, and the sounds of his partner’s terrible grief. Helplessly shaking his head, he turned away from the view he hadn’t really seen, and huddled on the bed.

Tomorrow, Maybourne was taking him to the new center, a former holiday retreat someplace in the Virginia hills. According to the colonel, the trainees would be arriving the day after. Blair sighed as he thought about those strangers who were tormented by out-of-control senses. Whether they were sentinels or not, it wasn’t their fault that Maybourne had manipulated him into doing this. He couldn’t vent his anger and anguish on them.

Somehow, he had to find it in himself to care about them. He had to want to help them, or he’d be no good to them. Worse, he might only deepen whatever fears they had about something being wrong with them, something that they probably felt branded them as nutcases. Maybourne had shrugged as he’d relayed the information that nothing physically wrong had been found to account for their stated problems, so they’d all been diagnosed as suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder – a condition that many physicians thought was illusory, a psychological manifestation of fear and the inability to countenance the jobs those men and women had sworn to do.

Blair grimaced. Just what they needed. To have their doctors as much as call them cowards. He shook his head. And remembered how scared Jim had been when they’d first met. How certain Jim had been that he was probably going insane. These strangers needed help every bit as much as Jim had. And, in a way, they were Jim’s … brothers and sisters in arms. Men and women his lover would identify with and understand. What if Jim had been one of them? What if he’d stayed in the military and only now had a chance to find out he wasn’t crazy, but that his senses were awesome gifts?

Blowing out a long breath, Blair murmured, “For you, Jim. I’ll take as good care of these people as I can. Because any one of them could have been you.”

Closing his eyes, he thought about Jim, imagined him at home in the loft. Wondered how Jim was doing. And wished with all his heart that he could be there to give solace and relief.

Jim would eventually figure out the clues he’d left in the letters. But he didn’t know if that would help or only make things worse for his lover. Maybe he should have left it alone. Maybe Maybourne had been right, that it would have been kinder to let Jim go on believing he was dead, so Jim could mourn him and then get on with his life. Had leaving the truth behind been for himself more than Jim?

He didn’t know. He only knew that, if it was him, believing Jim was dead would be more devastating than he could ever even begin to deal with. There’d be no end to the mourning, no refuge from the grief. But, even if they couldn’t be together, he’d feel some relief knowing Jim wasn’t dead, but alive, somewhere. And he’d never give up hoping they’d find a way, somehow, to be together again. That hope alone would be reason enough for him to go on.

When the memory of Jim’s wrenching sobs again filled his mind, he had to fight his own urge to weep. But that awful memory finally convinced him that, yes, he’d done the right thing. Jim would want to know. Would be relieved to know. Blair smiled ruefully, thinking that the knowledge, in its own way, might drive Jim a little nuts if he couldn’t figure out where Blair was – but the terrible, aching pain of loss wouldn’t be the same. There wouldn’t be the same emptiness and sense of futility.

And there’d be the cold comfort of hope to cling to when the empty days seemed to stretch into infinity and the silent loneliness of the nights became too much to bear.

**

Joel introduced Jim and Naomi to his pastor a half hour before the other mourners would be arriving. They both thanked him for his willingness to host the memorial service for a man who had not been a member of his congregation. Pastor Knowles assured them that there was no need for thanks and kindly ushered them to the front pew.

“Joel has told me about the format for services for members of the law enforcement community,” he said, “so the rituals today will be familiar to you, Detective Ellison.” Turning to Naomi, he went on, “And I understand that you and your son shared beliefs that are somewhat different from mine. I will try to respect that in my commentary.”

“Thank you,” she replied with dignity. “Blair and I, well, we believe that there are countless ways to find our way to the grace and love of the living Universe.”

He smiled and nodded. “In truth, I believe you’re absolutely right. God loves us so well that he speaks to us in many voices to help us understand his word and accept his love of us.”

Jim looked away, his shoulders twitching uncomfortably. Much as he’d like to believe that, he was far from sure there was any Supreme Entity who cared a damn about what happened to anyone. But he refrained from comment. There was something beyond this life; he knew that with absolute certainty. If this service would bring Naomi and others comfort, well, that was a good thing. For himself, there would be no comfort from anyone or anything short of Blair coming back to him, to show him that Blair really was okay. And was still with him. He sighed as his gaze wandered aimlessly around the sanctuary and he wondered again why Blair hadn’t come to him. And he wondered bitterly if this so-called loving Universe was what was keeping Blair away.

To calm himself, he turned his thoughts to Blair’s letters, and felt a rush of gratitude that Blair had come up with the idea of writing them. As well as he could conjure Blair’s voice in his mind, the concrete words gave him a different, more tangible comfort in the assurance of how much Blair had loved him. Did love him. Wherever he was. Frowning, he again felt some thought teasing in the back of his mind. There was something about the letters ….

Frustrated, he let it go and redirected his thoughts to what he wanted to say when it came his time to speak about the man who had so changed and enriched his life.

More mourners arrived, Simon, with a very solemn Darryl, and the rest of the gang from MCU, a few others from the PD … most of them support staff from Records, Forensics and Administration but there were other cops, too. Dan Wolf came in, with Serena. Jim recognized Dr. Eli Stoddard, Jack Kelso, and a few other faces from Rainier, people Blair had worked with, who had been friends. Surprisingly, or maybe not, Jim thought, there were quite a few people they’d encountered during one or another of the cases they’d worked on over the years. He was surprised to see his father and Steven enter and, turning away, was glad they chose seats in the back. The last time he’d spoken to either of them had been when the … he shut his mind down. He didn’t want to think about that time not quite two months ago.

When the music started, he was startled that it wasn’t some funereal dirge on the organ, but the sort of music Blair had liked to listen to when he’d been meditating. Blair would appreciate the thoughtfulness. Catching Joel’s eye, Jim nodded and smiled gratefully.

Pastor Knowles rose to stand in front of the altar. “Welcome,” he called out. “And thank you, for coming to celebrate Blair Sandburg’s life.” His voice became more intimate as he went on, “I didn’t have the pleasure of knowing Blair, but I’ve heard a good deal about him. I wish I had known him. I think we would have found much to talk about. While he and I might share different spiritual and philosophical traditions, I suspect that we would agree that, ultimately, we are loved by a compassionate God, and that nothing happens randomly in our Universe. There is always a reason, a purpose, though it might be, and often is, beyond our ability to grasp or understand. From all I’ve heard about Blair, he sounds like a singular and very special human being. One who had rich gifts of intelligence, compassion, and humor, as well as courage, and a rare integrity. I can feel the love that you hold for him and the love that you remember he shared with you. I can’t deny our sense of tragedy when someone so beloved is taken from us, in a senseless accident, too young, too soon. But I can tell you that I am certain that God is well pleased with this young son, and will have gathered him close, to bless his spirit with peace. Take comfort in that knowledge, and in the joy of your memories of this unique and wonderful man.” He paused and then offered, “Please, those of you who wish to share your memories of Blair, please come forward.”

Jim had to fight to remain in the sanctuary, to not storm out in blind, anguished rage. Comfort? What comfort? There was no comfort. The image of Blair being drawn into some golden place to rest in peace for all eternity was not his Blair. But he forced himself to sit and listen, and he drew Naomi close to comfort her when her tears overflowed.

Many people spoke and most, like Simon, said something about how they regretted they hadn’t told Blair how much they’d appreciated him and valued him. They all said they’d miss him and, in one way or another, that the world was less bright without him. As he listened, Jim bowed his head and fought to retain control of his emotions.

And then it was his turn, the last to speak before the service ended. Naomi patted his arm as he rose to climb the two shallow steps and stand to face them all. He could see and smell and hear people weeping, and the cloying scent of the flowers in the hall was choking. In his mind, he could so clearly hear Blair say, “Turn it down, man. Just turn it down.”

He swallowed to moisten his bone dry throat. “Blair Sandburg was, is, my best friend, the best friend any man could have, and a far better friend than I deserved. He was also my partner.” His voice cracked and he paused to steady himself. “There are very few people who know how much Blair meant to me, and how, how empty my life is and how difficult it will be, without him by my side. He was the best man I ever met. Pastor Knowles said he had courage. Yeah, yeah, he did. Untrained and unarmed, he followed me into danger more times than I can count, to back me up, because it was the right thing to do. He wasn’t fearless – to act without fear isn’t courage. He knew his vulnerabilities, but they never stopped him. He was the bravest man I’ve ever known. And the most gentle and compassionate. He gave unstintingly of himself to anyone who had need of him.”

Jim took a deep breath and sighed as he shook his head. “Truthfully? I can’t really accept that he’s dead. That that brilliant mind, that brimming exuberance and energy is gone. I don’t know how to go on without him. Can’t grasp that I’ll never hear his voice again. All I know is that he would want and expect me to keep doing my best. To honor him, I can do no less. But I’ll miss him until I take my last breath.” He hesitated, reluctant to bare himself so completely, but he owed it to Blair to say it straight out. “And I will _love_ Blair Sandburg beyond even death.”

He sniffed and swiped at his nose, looked out over the somber congregation, and then glanced at Pastor Knowles. “The Pastor has given us a comforting image of Blair reposing in peace.” Jim shook his head and a small, wounded smile touched his lips. “But, really, can you imagine Sandburg sitting still for that?”

Startled laughter rippled through the sanctuary.

“No, I didn’t think so,” Jim continued wryly. “He had too much energy, too much curiosity and sheer vitality. No, no … Blair isn’t lying on some cloud, contemplating eternity. He’s out there, figuring out how it all works, making suggestions about what colors should be employed in sunsets and flowers and mountain lakes, arguing that angels should get a lot more active in the affairs of men and women, to bring relief and help and support to those in need. He’s debating the ethical value and validity of free will in how we all act out our lives and the choices we make, arguing from the perspective of those who are vulnerable, who have no input to those choices but who suffer because of them. Blair … Blair’s still doing all he can, wherever he is, to make everything a little better than it is today, contributing all he is to making a difference for the good. And in his spare time, he’s out there, checking out the rest of this immense universe, thrilled to his boots to finally have the chance to see it all. That’s the image I have of Blair, my Blair. A shining spirit too brilliant and vigorous to be bound.”

Lifting his hands and pressing his fingertips together to hold himself steady, he concluded, “Naomi, Blair’s mother, and I want to thank every one of you for being here today. Blair would be so touched by your words and to see how much you care about him. But … but he wouldn’t want a lot of weeping and mourning. Blair … Blair would want you to remember him with laughter and with joy. So, when you remember him, remember his energy, his smile and the sound of his laughter. Remember how he touched your heart and made your world a little, maybe even a lot, better. Remember his gift of friendship. Most of all, remember his joy, and his unending love affair with life.”

He still saw tears, but he also saw smiles, and he nodded to himself as he returned to his seat. Blair would want the smiles, and would be proud of him, that he’d done his best when his own heart was shattered, to bring that comfort to all the rest.

The reception in the church basement was excruciating to him. The noise, the smell of over-cooked coffee and too strong tea, the perfumes and colognes, the voices raised in loud reminiscence, all scourged his erratic senses until he felt raw. He tried, he really tried to endure it, but it was too much. Too damned hard.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly to Naomi. “I have to get out of here.”

She nodded with understanding. “Of course. I’m ready to leave, too. And I need to soon go to the airport for my flight home.”

“You’re leaving already?” he asked, surprised and ashamed of the relief he felt as he escorted her outside. Simon trailed along behind, having noticed their departure.

“Yes, in about two hours.”

Only when they reached the sidewalk did Jim remember that he hadn’t driven to the service; that Joel had picked them up.

“My car is just over here,” Simon called out. “I’ll take you home.”

“Thanks,” Jim sighed and ushered Naomi into the back seat.

As they drove away, Simon said quietly, “You did good today, Jim. Blair would have appreciated everything you said, and then some. I think, most of all, he would have liked the fact that you got us to laugh.”

Jim nodded but continued to stare out at the passing street.

“You’re right, Simon,” Naomi chimed in from the back seat as she reached forward to pat Jim on the shoulder.

He barely restrained the sigh that threatened. He knew they were trying their best to cheer him up, but it was a lost cause. To shift their attention, he said, “Naomi’s going home today.”

“So soon?” Simon exclaimed, with a glance at her over his shoulder. “Are you going to be alright? Blair wouldn’t want you to be alone right now.”

“I’ll be fine, Simon, thank you,” she replied. “I … well, like Jim, I can’t really quite believe yet that he’s gone. It just doesn’t seem possible. Especially now, when he was so happy to know he’d be working with you both officially. But I have to believe that there is some purpose to it all, some compelling reason he had to leave us or he wouldn’t have gone. He just would _not_ have gone. I have to hold onto that and, and just keep telling myself how incredibly lucky I was to have him, even if it was for far too short a time.”

Simon frowned and Jim figured his friend was remembering the twisted wreck and thinking that Blair hadn’t had much choice in the matter. Or maybe Simon was thinking about how Naomi was scarcely ever around, and had been far from a constant presence in Blair’s life. Jim’s jaw flexed and he swallowed the resentment he felt about her wistful, earth mother, routine. What did it matter, if it brought her comfort? Blair wouldn’t begrudge it, so why should he? But, despite himself, he found himself agreeing with her that Blair wouldn’t have gone without some compelling reason. No matter how bad that wreck was, Blair would have found a way to hold on, to survive. He was just too damned stubborn to quit.

So what could have made him go? When he had wanted what they had so much?

Simon and Naomi continued to talk around him, leaving him to his silence. And he was very grateful when Simon offered to take her to the airport. More than anything, other than the ever-present desire to have Blair back, Jim craved being alone.

Alone to think about Blair and to reread those letters, while he remembered their last, wonderful weeks together.

**

Maybourne dropped him off with an off-hand comment about making himself at home and the assurance that his ‘students’ would be arriving the next day, all twenty of them.

Relieved to be free of the odious colonel, he looked at the lodge, and found the weathered wood and stone oddly comforting. Though it was a struggle, he forced himself to focus on the now, to get past his anger and grief, and to concentrate on ensuring he was ready for the arrival of his … what? Students? Possible sentinels?

Turning away from the entrance, he wandered around the building to check out the grounds, and approved of the peaceful ambiance of the place. Surrounded by tree-covered hills, he could see and hear nothing but the wind rustling through leaves, cheerful birdsong and, from somewhere close by, the gurgle and chuckle of water flowing over rocks. His charges would hear more, of course, but he hoped they’d find the environment restful, healing. There were twenty individual cabins, and he supposed it was no coincidence that that would be the number in the group. Checking each cabin in turn, he noted they all had a white noise generator, as he’d stipulated, so the students would be able to sleep without the distraction of heightened sounds. The accommodations weren’t luxurious, but the beds looked comfortable and were made up with soft, silk sheets and cotton blankets. Each cabin had two armchairs, as well as a straight chair, desk and chest of drawers.

Once he was assured the basic needs of his group had been met, he went into the main lodge and made his way to the kitchen, where he found a chef industriously stocking shelves with food stuffs.

“Hi, I’m Blair Sandburg,” he offered, holding out his hand.

The stocky, middle-aged, African-American man shook hands and said, “Sergeant Milt Freeborne. Pleased to meet you, sir.”

“Just ‘Blair’, okay?” he countered with a smile. Looking around, he went on, “Looks like you’ve got everything you need – will there be daily help to assist with food preparation?”

“Yes si-Blair. Two local women have been hired and a third will work part-time on the weekends.”

“And who replaces you on your time off?”

“Oh, I’ll prepare meals ahead, no problem,” Milt replied jovially.

Leaning back against the central work table, Blair asked, “Did the colonel advise you that our residents have special food needs?”

“No,” Milt replied with surprise. “Allergies? That sort of thing?”

“In a way,” Blair agreed. “They may all be sensitive to spicy foods, especially at the beginning. Part of my job is to, um, de-sensitize them to some extent. So, for the first week, anyway, we should stick to pretty bland foods, and let them add spices to their individual tastes.”

“No problem,” Milt said with a shrug. “What about you? Any food preferences?”

“Basically, just healthy stuff. I can’t take a lot of grease or fat.”

“Vegetarian?”

“No, just lean meat, fish, chicken, the usual – ostrich,” he added with a small grin.

“High in protein and very nutritious,” Milt approved. “What time do you want the meals served?”

“Seven to eight AM, noon to one, and six to seven in the evening. Maybe have some snacks, popcorn, beer, nuts, maybe even ice cream, for them to help themselves to when they want. I … I’d like to create as comfortable an atmosphere for them as I can.”

“Not like boot camp, huh?” Milt laughed.

“Nah,” Blair chuckled. “They’ve already jumped through those loops.” Straightening, he ambled toward the door. “Catch ya later, Milt. If I can help with anything, let me know.”

He checked out the dark, windowless conference room next and sighed at the formality of the large oval table surrounded by what at least looked like comfortable chairs. But it was better than a classroom, and he supposed the certain cool rigidity of the room would fit their concept of appropriate discipline, or whatever.

The lab had all the equipment he’d ordered, to help him test and assess their senses.

His office was, surprisingly, fairly pleasant. Two walls were lined with bookcases, and most of the books he’d requested were already in place. The modular desk and file cabinets looked efficient and the laptop was state-of-the-art. The phone had both internal and external lines. Evidently, Maybourne trusted him not to make inappropriate calls – or maybe the calls were being monitored. Hell, who would he call? He was ‘dead’, after all. The three chairs all looked more than adequate to their need. A large window on the outside wall looked out on a vista of forested hills and, he was pleased to see, it could be opened to let in fresh air.

Finally, he climbed the broad staircase just off the reception area and central hall of the lodge, that led to an upper corridor lined with guest rooms and, eventually, his suite of rooms. He quirked a brow in surprise when he saw the solid, leather furniture; Maybourne sure hadn’t spared anything for his comfort. There was a thirty-two inch television, a good quality sound system, and lots of CDs of the sort he enjoyed. He had his own small kitchen, stocked with what he’d said he wanted for breakfast and snacks. The refrigerator held bottles of water, various juices and beer. The bedroom was just as well-appointed, and the closet was filled with more clothing than he’d owned in his life. Snorting at the extravagance with what was taxpayers’ money, he returned to the living room and put on a environmental CD of a rippling creek, wind and birdsong overlaid with a simple, haunting flute.

Dropping into an armchair, he stared out the wide picture window at the hills that rolled into the distance.

“Home sweet home,” he muttered and tried, really, really tried to appreciate the place and not hate it all with every fiber of his being. As the day waned, he combed his fingers through his hair and rose to light several of the candles that covered virtually every surface. And then he dropped into a lotus position, closed his eyes and deepened his breathing, hoping meditation would help him find his balance … so that he’d be of some earthly use to the men and women he’d meet on the morrow.

 

**

 

Much as he treasured the letters, there was something about them that Jim was beginning to find more than a little irritating. Blair spoke of love in the letters, and even joked that they’d be hidden away from prying eyes, but the notes had still been written as if Blair feared someone else would see them; they could almost be read as if written as a dear friend rather than as a lover. Because of the diss? Because Blair never again would risk hurting him by inadvertent disclosure? As if the physical love they shared was something that had to be hidden? Frowning, Jim noticed another oddity. There wasn’t a _single_ mention of his senses in any of the letters, not one, though his senses were so much a part of their history, their shared memories. Jim appreciated the subtlety and care, but he regretted it at the same time. He would have preferred total candor and intimacy in those letters, not just words that were true but also relatively circumspect.

Tossing the pages on the coffee table, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes to call up his still vivid memories of their holiday. The visions of their love-making were precious but too sharply and touchingly emotional to endure. So he concentrated instead on what they did, what they talked about, recalled the giant sequoias and the places they saw in San Francisco.

He played over the memories like another man might count worry beads, finding them reassuring and soothing, pleasant if … if poignant. He thought about how Blair had seemed so preoccupied and worried about something and wished fervently that he’d tried harder to find out what it was. He hated to think that Blair had died with some anxiety haunting him. Hated even more that Blair hadn’t felt comfortable in sharing whatever it was. Man, the kid had sure been worried about the dangers of the job and what it might mean for them in the long run … if they even had a long run. If one or both didn’t get killed on the job. Frowning, he reflected now that those worries had been uncomfortably prophetic, and he pushed those memories away.

Instead, he conjured up the day Blair had again surprised him with the esoteric range of his knowledge and experience. Somehow, in all the years they’d been together, he’d never suspected that Sandburg had knowledge of Morse code. He was going to miss that, that constant fun of new discovery as he plumbed the depths of Blair’s mind and whimsy. And the kid could be affected by the damnedest things. Imagine him being so moved, and understanding so deeply the import of the ‘silent key’ ritual. Hell, he’d seemed almost on the verge of tears at one point. Blair’s capacity to embrace and respect the customs of others, to grasp the significance and meaning, had been profound, even a bit awesome. Sighing, Jim freely acknowledged that Blair had been so much better at the emotional stuff, so much more open, than Jim knew he’d ever be. He’d never told Blair how much he appreciated that about him, and he hoped that the odd, too rare gesture – like the way he’d placed his hand on the back of Blair’s neck to comfort his sorrow in remembering the silent key tradition – had been understood and appreciated for the depth of feeling such gestures represented.

Remembering, he thought Blair had seemed to understand, and the sorrow in the man’s eyes as he’d recounted the tradition had faded. The silent key, a tradition and ritual of death. Sighing, Jim rubbed his eyes. It was evocative and moving, painfully so now.

And then he stiffened and sat up.

Silent key.

He’d read that … something like that … in Blair’s letters. Or was it just the resonance of words, not ‘silent key’ exactly. Frowning, he picked up the letters and shuffled through the pages until he found the word ‘silent’ – and, right beside it, ‘key’ was spelled out in Morse.

“What the hell?” he gaped, his eyes narrowing as he re-examined the letters. That was it. That’s what had been nagging at him. Those long weird ellipses and dashes, when Blair never used anything like that in his writing.

And they all spelled out words. ‘Key’. ‘File’.

Blair had been doing more than writing him love letters.

Sandburg had been sending him a covert, coded message.

Blair’s voice echoed in his mind, once again promising to let him know what was wrong when they got home.

And suddenly, Blair’s care in what he revealed – and hadn’t – in the letters made sense. He _had_ been afraid someone else might read them, someone illicit … someone dangerous.

Someone who might use their relationship, or his sensory skills, against them.

“Son of a bitch,” he growled. “Maybe it wasn’t an accident, after all. Damn it – if someone killed you, Chief, I’m gonna find the bastard and rip him apart.”

Again and again, Jim read the letters, searching for the message hidden within. He blinked and his lips parted when it all finally clicked.

Standing, he hurried to Blair’s room and powered up the laptop. It took him a few minutes, but he found the prompt to enter in the username ‘Chief’ and the password, ‘partner’, to access an encrypted file.

The page opened, and he stared at the first line.

‘Jim, I’m alive.’

His breath caught and, for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. He started to shake with relief so exquisite it was painful. He rubbed his mouth, and his eyes, got his breathing under control … and started to read.

 

‘Jim, I’m alive.

Whatever happened, however it was made to look like I died, it was all faked. God, I hope you won’t hate me for what I’ve done. But, please, please believe me – I had NO choice but to go along with this godawful charade.

After the press conference, I was approached by someone who didn’t believe a word of it. He wanted a ‘guide’ to help train potential sentinels. Jim, he threatened to either expose you or … well, bottom line, if I didn’t comply with his demands, he threatened to have you and Naomi murdered. Believe me, the threat was entirely credible. He brought the assassin with him when he came to the loft the day before you got out of the hospital. I trust you, man, and I’d bet on you against anyone in an even half-fair fight. But … you wouldn’t even know this guy was coming. And how could I risk Mom’s life?

I’ve known since then that I’ll have to go when he calls. And I’ve known that he will be faking my death. He said it would be kinder, so you and Mom wouldn’t always be wondering where I was and if I was okay. Maybe he’s right. It’s probably best to let Naomi believe the lie. But I can’t stand lying to you. I can’t just disappear without you knowing that if there was any way, I would have told you … dying would be easier than leaving you will be. But his terms were that nobody could know. I was afraid if I told you, you’d want to try to fight this somehow. But it’s too big, Jim. They hold power, real power. I can’t … I can’t risk you. I can’t risk you being hurt or having your life destroyed.

So I agreed to his terms and I’ll train his sentinels, if he really has any. Maybe they’ll turn out to only have a few enhanced senses. Whatever. They’ll meet his requirements for what he wants from them. I don’t think they’re bad people, Jim. In fact, I think they may be very good people, people like you, who have no idea why their bodies seem to have turned on them.

It’s been so hard to not tell you all this. I wasn’t sure if … well, if I should admit to you that I love you the way I do. But I had to take the chance when you offered it, the chance to show you how very much you mean to me, and how much I love you. I’m sorry if all this has just hurt you more, if it would have been easier on you if we’d just stayed friends, but I wanted the time we’ve spent together. I guess it’s selfish but I want to have those memories. The past four years have been awesome, but these past six weeks have been so incredible, so wonderful … everything I ever dreamed being with you would be, and more. You are so precious to me, Jim. So infinitely precious.

I have every faith that you’ll figure out the clues I left, but I want you to know that those letters weren’t just a way to get the truth to you. I meant every word that I wrote. I just wish I could have written more – like the fact that I’ve never felt so alive or so exquisitely happy as when we were together – but I was afraid this guy might search the loft and read them, just to check if I’d left any message for you behind.

I also know you well enough to expect your first impulse will be to try to find me. And you’re good enough that you just might. Hell, if this was a bet, I’d definitely bet on you. I can’t help you, can’t tell you where they’re taking me, because I don’t know.

But be careful, Jim. Be very careful. Naomi’s life and yours rest on them not knowing you’re even _looking_. I have no doubt that they’ll be watching, at least for a while. If you decide it’s best to just leave it alone, easier to go on pretending I’m dead and gone, I’ll understand, because even if you find me, I won’t be able to leave with you. Not so long as the threat to you and Mom remains. I despise these guys, Jim. I abhor what they are doing to us. But they scare me. They really, really scare me, and I don’t dare defy them. It’d kill me if they went after you and Mom. Just kill me.

I hope you don’t see all this as just one more betrayal. I really hope that you’ll understand that I didn’t want to mislead or lie to you. But I did. And if you can’t forgive that, again, I understand. Trust is a fundamental thing for you and … I’ve breached it too many times. I’d rather die than hurt you, but it seems I go on hurting you over and over.

Jim, I wish I could have seen another way. I wish … I wish so much that I didn’t have to leave you. I love you. More than life, more than anything. But I have to go, probably very soon. If … if I can ever figure out a way to get free, if circumstances change and the threat is gone, I _will_ come back to you.

But it could be years, Jim, if ever, and I don’t expect you to wait for me. If you have a chance to find love, to have someone wonderful in your life, take it. I want you to be happy.

I … I have to finish this before you wake up. I’m sorry, Jim. More sorry than I can say. All I wanted was to be your partner, at work and in life. To be the best I could be for you. Please don’t let what I’ve done sour you on others, on our friends, or the possibility of love in your life. You deserve to be loved, Jim. To have someone who cherishes you as I wanted to.

Be careful, man. Don’t take stupid chances. Make sure you work with backup. The sentinel file is still on this computer – share it with anyone you want, to help them give you the support you need.

I have to go.

Good bye, Jim. Take good care of yourself.

All my love, always,  
Blair

 

Erupting with emotion, Jim stood so fast the chair crashed back on the floor, and he slammed his fist into the wall. He wanted to shake the living crap out of Blair for so willingly sacrificing himself – again. What would it take for that man to understand that _his_ life, _his_ hopes, _his_ needs, had value? That he didn’t always come second, regardless of the threats to Jim or his mother or whomever.

“Shit!” Jim cursed fiercely. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you give me a chance to fix this before it went this far!” A tight knot grew in Jim’s gut. He knew why. The bastard had threatened exposure, and Blair knew all too well how Jim reacted to that. Hell, the kid had already given up his career and his good name. Why the hell not toss the rest of his life into the sacrificial pit to protect Jim’s privacy? Like that was any kind of even trade. It was bullshit. And it had to stop. Blair couldn’t keep being held hostage to his fears. “Damn it,” he groaned and sagged onto the edge of the futon.

Bracing his elbows on his knees, he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. His anger was misdirected and inappropriate, spawned by his unresolved feelings about the press conference. In agreeing to submit to the coercion and threats, Blair was only being true to his principles. He’d never put his life before the lives of people he loved. He’d do whatever it took to protect his mother … and his best friend, let alone his lover. Jim mourned the fact that Blair hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him any sooner – or even to make it clearer as to who had taken him. Blair knew his first reaction would be to fight back, to hell with the consequences. And Blair hadn’t been willing to take that risk. Hell, he made it clear he wouldn’t even accept a rescue. Blair put their lives ahead of his own, and ahead of the love between them.

No … that wasn’t fair, was it? Blair had done what he had out of love.

“Ah, Chief,” he moaned, his hands covering his face. “Hate you? Not hardly. Shake the living stuffing out you when I find you? You betcha.” He straightened the overturned chair and settled down to read the note again, grimacing at the pain and wrenching sorrow that radiated from it. _Sandburg, for a genius, you can sure be an idiot sometimes, he thought, shaking his head. What the hell were you thinking? Trying to deal with this all on your own. Damn it, Chief. You should have told me._

Blair was afraid he might see this as another kind of betrayal. That, more than anything else, told Jim that Blair really didn’t trust him. Really didn’t believe that Jim loved him enough to put him first. And why would he? When had he ever put Blair first? There was always something more important. His job. His secret. His fears. Or … surely Sandburg wouldn’t have thought Jim would bail on him rather than fight back? Would run scared again and want to protect his secret more than he cared about Blair’s life? But hadn’t he hinted at that in the note? Hadn’t he said he’d understand if Jim thought it would be too much hassle to go after him? Jim’s hands shook and bile rose to burn the back of his throat.

Crap. He had to get it together. He couldn’t afford to let emotions get in the way of fixing this mess. The important thing – dear God, the miracle here – was that Blair was _alive._

With a determined act of will, Jim locked down his anxieties about what the whole thing meant about how things stood between him and Blair. He didn’t have time for self-recriminations or regret. They could deal with everything else after he found out who had taken his partner and neutralized the threats. Whoever had done this wasn’t going to get away with it.

For the third time, he read the note, this time coldly and analytically, as a detective rather than as an abandoned and bereaved lover. His icy rage built at the way they’d manipulated Blair, but he didn’t let the emotion distract him – just used it to fuel his focus. Stringently methodical, he ran through the facts, such as they were, to piece together possible scenarios that might both lead him to motive and to the perpetrators of the kidnapping.

 _Why had Blair been taken?_

To train sentinels. Sentinels who weren’t ‘bad people’; were maybe even ‘good’ people, people like him. Jim frowned at the distinction between the man who manipulated and the individuals to be trained. _Means and ends,_ he thought. The ‘means’, the bullying of Blair into leaving, were distinct from the ‘ends’, the training of individuals who may be acting for the good and who were probably ignorant of how Blair had been ‘persuaded’ to help them.

Sentinels … plural, but how many? The whole thing had the trappings of a fairly big, even audacious operation. Who would have access to a bunch of possible sentinels? “Gotta be military,” he muttered. _Who else has access to that many people with an innate need to protect their society, even at the possible cost of their own lives? Makes some sense that latent sentinels would be people who choose to train as warriors to protect their nation and society – not ‘bad people’ like members of organized crime, but ‘maybe even good’. People Blair would say might be like me._

 _Why had Blair found the threats so credible as to be compelled to go without putting up a fight? They’d been up against killers before. What made this one different? More frightening?_

‘Assassin’ was a loaded word, cold and far more precise than the more prosaic ‘killer’. Had Blair used it deliberately or unconsciously? Had he meant to leave another clue? The assassin had been brought here, to the loft, to make the point that the threat was real and very deadly. But maybe it was more than that. Maybe Blair recognized the man, and that’s why he’d been brought in the first place. Maybe Blair had simply used the word that best fit that man. And Blair was afraid that Jim ‘wouldn’t even know that this guy was coming’. Jim frowned at that, puzzled by Blair assessment of the danger. This note gave fair warning. Why wouldn’t Blair assume he’d not only be on guard but actively trying to lock the creep up? Who might he not realize could be a risk?

Rubbing his chin, Jim thought it out. Someone Blair knew was deadly, someone Blair recognized personally … but also someone Blair thought Jim might not consider.

Blair only knew two assassins and Jim hoped one of them, Yuri, was long dead. And, come to think of it, Blair had never seen Yuri, had never met him.

Had to be Brackett.

Brackett – who also knew about sentinels and guides. Maybe he wasn’t just paid help. Maybe he was an intrinsic part of the plot to kidnap Blair. Hell, maybe he was the one who had set Blair up in the first place.

And Brackett had a pretty good alibi. He was supposed to be securely locked up in a federal institution – so he wouldn’t be someone Jim would automatically think of as a threat. But was Brackett still imprisoned? And even if he was back in his cell, did he have access to a free pass whenever it was needed? What would Brackett get out of being involved in this? Revenge? Nah. The guy was too cool, too professional for personal grudges. Maybe he was trading Blair for a ‘get out of jail free’ card. Nodding to himself, Jim thought that made sense. He had to find out if Brackett was still incarcerated.

 _Okay, so who’s Brackett’s control?_

Someone who wanted trained sentinels – and evidently had the resources to set up some kind of secret school to do so. Someone who could fake a death. Someone who had the resources to search the loft … and put watchers on his tail.

Someone with power, or access to power. ‘Real’ power that so badly intimidated Blair – a man who rarely allowed anyone or anything to intimidate him – that even in the encrypted message, he hadn’t named any names or organizations that would have made finding him a helluva lot easier. Blair had gone so far as to suggest that Jim just forget it all and not search for him. Snorting, Jim shook his head. Yeah, right, like that would ever happen. But Blair was no fool. If he said the threat was real, that this power was dangerous, then Jim believed him.

It all added up to a big organization that had resources, power – and access to a fair number of potential sentinels.

Military? CIA? Some foreign power?

Jim chewed on his lip and decided there wasn’t enough to go on. Nor could he blunder around asking pointed questions and pushing for answers without risking deadly fallout.

He needed help.

Covert help.

Jim glanced at his watch and then reached for the phone on the desk. After punching in the number, he waited impatiently for the call to be answered – and then he quickly hung up. What if the phone was being monitored? He thought he’d know, be able to hear the tell-tale static on the line, but he didn’t want to take that chance. His senses had been wonky, cutting in and out, spiking and then disappearing, since Simon had brought him home from the site of the accident. Besides, it was possible that the loft was under surveillance with sound equipment that didn’t need something as crude as a tap on the line. Jim’s breath caught at the thought, and he tried to remember what he’d said out loud when he’d first read the encrypted message. If there was a directional microphone pointed at the windows, he may already have revealed too much. He had to be more careful.

Briskly, he closed down the file and turned off the computer before striding out of Blair’s old room and grabbing his jacket and keys. Once in the truck, he drove around aimlessly, watching for a tail, but he didn’t see one. Satisfied that he was unobserved, he pulled up beside the next telephone booth he spotted.

Dropping a quarter in the slot, he punched in the number. Looking around, monitoring the environment, he waited for an answer. “Jack? Jim Ellison. I need to see you. Right now, if possible.”

 _“Is this about –”_

“Yeah,” he cut in to keep the conversation vague. “I’ve just found out that nothing is what it seemed.”

 _“Good. I wasn’t happy with the way things seemed. Come on over.”_

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Only as he was driving to Kelso’s apartment did Jim realize that he was speeding toward a discussion that might well require more personal disclosure than he’d ever been prepared to make, except to Simon and their superiors. And, well, Blair himself. Could he get away with scamming over the reason Blair had been taken? His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. His gut-level response to revealing himself as a freak of nature hadn’t changed, not one whit, despite his angst about his inability to confront that fear, and the price Blair paid to keep the heat off him.

“Guess this is it, Chief. This is where the rubber hits the road.” He’d try to soft-pedal it but he wouldn’t sacrifice his chances of finding Blair by hiding critical information that might help Kelso search for answers. Blair’s safety and freedom _had_ to be _his_ priority. God knew, it wasn’t Blair’s.

God damn those bastards who had done this. He wanted to rip them apart with his bare hands! His fury and frustration, and his bitter regret that Blair hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him what was going down became a surging maelstrom that rose to choke him. He couldn’t stand the thought that Blair might be lost to him forever. Christ, how could Blair not know how he felt? How much he needed … wanted ….

Without warning, his senses spun out of control. The setting sun blinded him and the roar of traffic around him climbed to deafening proportions. His gut rebelled at the sickening stench of exhaust fumes that thickened the air and his hands felt numb, like blocks of wood. Cursing viciously, he wheeled to the side of the road and hit the brake.

“Not now, dammit!” he raged, impotent tears stinging his eyes. “Jesus, Sandburg, I’ve got to get control!”

Panting, struggling to contain the turbulent emotions that possessed him, he slammed his fist against the steering wheel before crossing his arms tightly and bowing his head. He couldn’t afford emotions. They just got in the way. He had to push them down, set them aside, shelve them, whatever. But, dammit, they’d taken Blair. And he’d gone with them! Hadn’t fought back. Hadn’t trusted him. What if he never found him? Where was he? What if he did fight? Was he hurt? Oh, God, what if all those sentinels were like Alex!

 _Easy, man, geez, just take it easy. Deep breaths … slowly, slow and deep. That’s it. You know how to do this, Jim. C’mon, let it go. Relax … just relax and breathe. Yeah, yeah, that’s it. Now, find your dials. One by one, bring them back into line …._

Blair’s voice faded from his mind and, exhausted, he sagged into the support of the seat. His emotions still roiled close to the surface, too close. Fear still shuddered in his body, resonating with his rage. He had to get a grip. There wasn’t time for this. Glancing at his watch, he checked the traffic and resumed his journey to Kelso’s place. He could do this. He could hold it together. He had to.

 

**

 

Once they were ensconced in the former agent’s soundproofed and windowless study, and he felt like he was finally doing something that would help his partner, Jim relaxed marginally. He leaned urgently toward the agent as he said, “Jack, I’ve just found out that Blair is alive. The ‘accident’ was faked by persons unknown to facilitate his disappearance. They, uh, want him to teach in some secret school they’re establishing.”

“Jim, sorry, but that sounds far-fetched,” Kelso challenged. “Blair is good, even brilliant, but he’s just one of any number of former doctoral students. Why would anyone go after him, especially after he put his integrity in question a couple months ago?”

Still reluctant to be entirely candid unless there was no other choice, Jim evaded eye contact as he replied, “All I know is that whoever it is didn’t believe his press conference and they want him to train sentinels. Blair was coerced into cooperating by threats against his mother’s life and mine.”

Jack Kelso frowned thoughtfully. “Why wouldn’t they believe the press conference? It was pretty convincing – and anyone who checked would know Blair was tossed out of graduate school and lost his job on the faculty because of his fraudulent act.”

Grimacing, Jim sighed. This was it. He had to bite the bullet. Blair had to come first. “I think Brackett is involved,” he growled angrily, and then leashed his fury at the rogue agent. Distancing himself from the facts, his tone was flat and cold as he explained, “Brackett knows that Blair’s theories about sentinels are right. Plus, he knows the ‘guide’ is key to helping a sentinel control and manage the senses.” Shifting uncomfortably, he elaborated, “A sentinel just does his or her thing without really knowing how or why things work. The guide figures that out and, uh, watches the sentinel’s back because a sentinel can … can zone – get mentally lost – when concentrating too hard on one sense to the exclusion of the others. Sandburg … Sandburg might be the only person in the world who has the qualifications to train sentinels.”

“I see,” Jack murmured, his astute gaze fixed on Jim. “So … there was truth in that paper that Blair declared was fictional and fraudulent. Truth he didn’t want the whole world to know. Given what you describe as intimate and detailed knowledge, I’d have to surmise that Blair is the guide to a sentinel. The press conference was a blind – to protect you.”

Sighing, feeling exposed, Jim nodded grudgingly. There was no way around it – if he wanted Jack’s help, then he couldn’t play silly-assed games with the truth. “Yeah.”

“Can’t say as I’m all that surprised,” Kelso said with a smile and the tone of a man whose beliefs had just been vindicated. “That press conference never made any sense to me. I just couldn’t see Blair pulling an unethical stunt like that. Why would he? With his talent and brilliance he didn’t need to use subterfuge to get his doctorate.” Giving Jim a speculative look, Kelso scratched his cheek. “And after what you said at the service today, it seemed pretty clear that –”

“Yeah, well, Sandburg did what he thought he had to do for altruistic reasons,” Jim cut in, vastly uncomfortable with discussion about either the press conference or the memorial service, “both about fixing the leak of his dissertation and in allowing these jerks to railroad him into complying with their demands. He’s never had the first clue about self-preservation.”

“Protecting someone you feel responsible for and care about is a powerful motivator,” Jack observed mildly. “Sometimes self-preservation isn’t the first priority. You know that.”

Jim angrily clenched his jaw and fists against the frustration and helplessness he felt. Of course he knew that! It was _his_ place to do the protecting. He was the sentinel, the warrior. Blair was taking too damn many hits to protect him, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. That’s not the way it was supposed to work. The senses were his problem. Hell, if he’d owned up to them in the first place, Blair wouldn’t be at risk now. There’d be no secret, no leverage – everything could have been above-board, including any request to assist in the training of sentinels for government purposes.

But he couldn’t afford to get mired in the muck of guilt and regret. He had to stay focused or he’d be useless to his partner. “Look, can we get back to how to find Sandburg?” Jim redirected harshly. “I can’t go poking around without raising a lot of red flags. I was thinking that you might be able to get information I can’t. Like about where they might have set up shop to train these possible sentinels. Even if it’s under wraps, identifying candidates, setting up a facility – somebody has to have noticed something.”

“Of course,” Jack agreed with easy equanimity, though his steady gaze was sharp and assessing. “You’re thinking domestic, right? Military, CIA, rather than some foreign power?”

“Yeah,” Jim acknowledged, running a hand over his head in an effort to relax. “Blair recognized the ‘assassin’ who is being held over him as a threat. I figure it has to be Brackett. Getting him out of prison and back in again with no hassle indicates a home-grown operation.”

“Would have to be someone with clout to spring Brackett from maximum security for a field trip,” Kelso mused.

“That’s assuming that Brackett is still behind bars. Do you know that for sure?”

Jack shook his head. “No, but I think I would have heard if he slipped under the radar again.”

“Okay, well, I guess that’s one of the first things to check. Jack, Blair’s note stresses that whoever is behind this has a lot of power,” Jim supplied. Shaking his head, anger and concern again distracting him, he grated, “This bastard scared Sandburg. Scared him bad. And Blair’s not someone who scares easily.”

“Threatening loved ones usually has a salutary effect.” When Jim glared at him, concern and compassion filled Jack’s face, and he nodded somberly. “Okay, so we need to proceed carefully. That means that it may take me a few days to dig up anything useful. But I’ll keep at it until I do. Do you think you’re being watched?”

“Maybe, not sure,” Jim muttered. “How will we make contact when you’ve got something?”

“Can we use a third party who might attract less attention? Someone who has ready access to you without raising any eyebrows?”

“My boss, Simon Banks. He’s, uh, he’s a good friend and he’s the only person who knew any of the facts about … about my senses until it all blew up two months ago.”

“If Banks is the only one who knew anything, how did Brackett find out?”

“Four years ago, Sandburg and I weren’t involved in that whole scenario just because of my job,” Jim explained wearily. “Brackett had read the reports of my debriefings after Peru, and he’d also read some of Sandburg’s earlier papers postulating the existence of sentinels. Brackett put two and two together and came after us deliberately, to coerce me into helping him pull off the heist of the prototype. He, uh, he’d done enough of his own research that he had a better grasp of the role of the guide at the time than even Blair or I did.”

“Huh,” Jack grunted, and then he ruefully shook his head. “Brackett’s good, no doubt about it. Too bad he only plays the game by his own rules for his own gain.”

Not in the mood to extol Brackett’s talents, Jim stood to grab a pen and a slip of paper from the desk. He jotted down Simon’s numbers – office, cell, and home – and handed it to Jack. “You get a lead,” he ordered with brusque urgency, “you call anytime – day or night.”

Jack nodded and slipped the paper into the pocket of his cardigan. Looking up at Jim, he said reassuringly, “There’s time to do this right, Jim. They need Blair, so he’s in no immediate danger, and neither are you or his mother if we stay below the radar. I know it’s not easy, but try to be patient.” He paused and then added in a cautionary tone, “And remember – so far as anyone can know, Blair is dead. If anyone suspects you believe any differently, the game is blown.”

“I know that,” he retorted with savage impatience. When Jack just gazed at him, Jim straightened and consciously relaxed his stance. Grudgingly, he rubbed his mouth and nodded. “You’re right. I’m wound too tight.”

Jack wheeled his chair close enough to grip Jim’s arm. “I understand,” he said solemnly. “You want him back safe and sound, as soon as possible. But depending on how far this goes and who’s involved, that might not be easy to accomplish.”

“I’m not just going to leave him buried wherever the hell he is!” Jim flared. “One way or another, I’m going to get him out of there.”

“I get that, okay?” Jack countered sternly. “But we could be up against national security protocols, and you do know what that means, right?”

Jim’s throat tightened. “Yeah,” he gusted, “I know what that means. If exposed, minimize collateral damage and bury it deep.” He took a deep breath and nodded sharply. He’d come to Jack because he knew he needed the man’s help. Kelso was the best shot he had at finding Blair. And Jack was absolutely right. Blair was in no immediate danger, but that could change fast if Jim wasn’t very careful. Lifting his hands, he agreed, “Okay, okay. We play it your way. Patience, right? Low profile. Play the bereaved partner and just do my job.”

“And let me do mine.” A smile of approval twitched in the corners of Jack’s mouth. “You were good at black ops. You’ll see – it’s like riding a bicycle. You never forget how.”

Jim slapped Kelso’s shoulder as he turned toward the door. “Thanks, Jack. I’ll bring Simon up to speed and we’ll wait for your call.” Pausing in the doorway, he slumped and his control slipped. Looking back over his shoulder, he asked, “Just try to make it as quick as you can, okay?”

“You have my word.”

Jim studied him, and the sincerity and compassion in the man’s eyes touched him deeply. Jack cared about Blair and he would, absolutely, do his best. “That’s good enough for me,” he said with hoarse gratitude as he turned away.

**

Jim wrapped on the front door and watched the street while he waited for Simon.

“Jim! Hey, come on in,” his friend exclaimed, opening the door wide. As he stepped over the threshold, Simon carefully asked, “How’re you doing? I called a little while ago and was worried when you didn’t answer.”

Jim nodded uncomfortably as he stretched his senses out. “Darryl’s gone back to his Mom’s place?” he asked, verifying that no one else was there just in case his senses were still wonky.

“Yeah, I went back to get him after I dropped Naomi off at the airport, and took him back to Joan’s place,” Simon replied, leading the way to the kitchen. “You want a coffee? Maybe a beer – or something stronger?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks.” When Simon gestured for him to have a seat at the table, he blurted, “Simon … Blair’s alive.”

“What?” Simon gasped, his eyes widening in astonishment … and then narrowing equally quickly. “Jim, maybe you better sit down.”

“No, no, I’m not losing my mind, here. And it’s not a case of denial. Sandburg left an encrypted file for me on his computer. He left me clues.” Waving off the details, he went on, “It’s complicated, but … the point is someone coerced him into going and faked his death so we wouldn’t know.”

“Why?”

“To train sentinels.”

“Sentinels,” Simon echoed flatly and rolled his eyes. Sitting down, he directed, “Maybe you better start at the top. Who took him?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’ve got some ideas.” Jim settled onto the chair across the table and summarized the situation as concisely as he could.

“So we’re supposed to just act like he’s really dead, while Kelso goes fishing for information,” Simon said when Jim had finished, and frowned as he thought about what he’d just learned. “If I’ve got this straight, you think Brackett and someone else put the screws to Blair, threatening to out you, or kill you and Naomi, if he didn’t comply. And that so far as Blair knew when he left you that note, this might be some kind of life servitude.”

“Yeah, that’s about it,” Jim agreed unhappily. “He left the note the night before he disappeared.”

Simon’s gaze dropped as he nodded. “Jim …” he hesitated and then went on, “has it occurred to you that maybe Blair was in that car when it went over?”

“No, I told you, they faked his death so we wouldn’t look for him.”

“Yes, I heard you. But, but from what you’ve said, Blair was between a rock and a hard place. What if … what if he decided that if he was dead, there’d be no threat to you and his mother? What if a fast exit was preferable to being a virtual prisoner for the rest of his life, training possible sentinels to do who knows what? He might have felt that it would be better all round if he just … just ….”

“No!” Jim shouted as he lurched to his feet to pace around the kitchen. “No, he wouldn’t do that. Blair would never kill himself.”

“Look, I don’t want to destroy your hope –”

“I’m telling you, he’s _alive_.”

“You can’t know that, not for sure,” Simon cajoled. “Think about it. Can you imagine Blair being party to something that might be profoundly unethical – what if these sentinels are being trained to be assassins? Would he be able to bring himself to help them? Sure, to save your life and Naomi’s he might initially agree … but could he live with himself? With the pressure? Jim, we have to consider this. Going off that cliff might have seemed to be the only way out of a hopeless situation.”

Jim whirled away and braced his arms on the counter as he fought the urge to slug Simon for suggesting that Blair might really be dead. That he’d _choose_ to kill himself. “I know he’s alive,” he grated insistently, with a gut level assurance that had nothing to do with hope.

“How do you know?”

“Simon, think about it. There was a witness, right? So if it was an accident, then he didn’t kill himself. But that’s not the point. I _know_ he’s not dead. Because … because I heard him. Heard his voice,” he said with soft astonishment. He’d forgotten. Turning to Simon, he went on, “When you dropped me off that morning. I heard him – but I … I thought I was losing it. Damn it! I could have stopped this then!”

Simon sat back. “So that’s what that was about. I was watching you and I remember you swinging around, searching the street. I wondered then what you were looking for. Obviously, you didn’t see him.”

“No, but I thought for a minute that I also heard his heart beating.” Exasperated with himself for having failed to trust his senses, his brow puckered as he dredged up the vague memories of those moments. “There were strangers rushing along the street. And cars parked at the curb, all of them empty except … except one.” He looked up, his piercing gaze finding Simon’s. “The guy was in a uniform. Air Force, I think.”

In two strides, he was across the room and grabbing the phone from the wall. “Jack,” he said tersely, “I just remembered. The day I thought Blair died, when I got home, for a moment, I thought I heard his voice. When I looked around, I didn’t see him and thought I was half-crazy. But … but there was a guy in a blue uniform sitting in a car parked at the curb. Yeah, Air Force. That’s what I thought at the time, anyway, but didn’t really register it. Uh huh. Okay. I’m at Simon’s place so he’s up to speed. Right. Thanks.”

After he hung up, he saw that Simon was still looking askance at him. “Don’t you see? It fits. The military is somehow involved in this – that’s gotta be where they’re finding these possible sentinels. It’s too much of a coincidence that I’d hear Blair’s voice and see a military officer just sitting there. He was probably staking the place out to see how I was reacting to Blair’s death. To make sure I didn’t know it was a scam.”

Simon’s expression was guarded. “Okay, we’ll play this out. But, Jim … I have some idea of what Blair means to you and how hard his death hit you – both the other day and months ago, at the fountain. If it turns out you’re wrong, and he’s not alive, I’m worried about what that will do to you.”

Jim searched his eyes and then, sagging a little, he looked away. “It can’t be any worse than what I’ve been feeling since Monday morning, Simon,” he said quietly, stricken by the thought that Simon could be right. But he couldn’t let himself believe that. Couldn’t even consider the possibility. “There was no body. And I _did_ hear his voice. He’s alive. And I have to find him.”

Sighing, Simon nodded. “Okay. Okay. I believe you. He was still alive after we saw that wreck. Which, by the way, puts a whole new light on that very helpful witness who didn’t see much of anything useful. Because, if Blair’s not dead, and he didn’t go over that cliff – then what the hell was that witness talking about?”

“You’re right. I need to –”

“No, _you_ need to go on behaving as if you believe Blair is gone,” Simon ordered. “I’ll pull the file and do some quiet checking of my own.” But then, a smile started to grow even as he heaved a breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob. “Hot damn,” he gasped as he looked up at Jim. “Sandburg’s alive.” Shaking his head, he pressed his lips together and hastily swiped at his eyes.

“Yeah, I know,” Jim offered awkwardly, moved and grateful to see his friend’s surge of emotion, glad to not be the only basket-case in the room. “We may need to start calling him Miracle Max.”

Simon snorted a laugh as he swiped at his eyes. “Only _partly_ dead. Not _completely_ dead,” he snickered, mimicking Billy Crystal’s sing-song delivery.

Jim chuckled and started to laugh, and then couldn’t stop. Staggering to his chair, he dropped into it and wiped tears of amusement from his eyes. He just felt so damned relieved and happy and beside himself with downright joy. Blair wasn’t dead. He was alive. They were going to find him and bring him home.

When they finally settled down, Simon got up to pour them a celebratory drink. “To Blair,” he said, clinking Jim’s glass. “You know, it’s not going to be easy … pretending. Not letting the others in on it.”

“No, no it isn’t, and I wish we could take the chance of clueing them in. But we can’t risk it. We don’t know who might be watching.” Jim replied regretfully. He took a sip and then set the glass on the table. “I’m tired of the secrets, Simon. I think … I think when all this is over, the three of us need to sit down and figure out some other options. There’s got to be a better way than Blair being held hostage to silence.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Simon allowed but gave him an inscrutable look. “But some secrets are worth keeping. Time enough to figure all that out later.” Leaning his elbows on the table, he added, “If you’re right, the real trick, once we find him, is going to be taking on the military and maybe the government to get him back.”

“Ah, I don’t know,” Jim returned. “Nobody knows better than I do that there are some bad guys in command positions. But I can’t believe this is a sanctioned military or government operation. I think we’ve got someone in Intel who thinks he’s found a neat new gambit and has enough power and autonomy to play it out. But what he’s doing, whoever he is, is illegal. Once he knows the jig is up, and that I’m willing to push it to the wall – go for full disclosure rather than continue to aid and abet the power of the secret – he’ll probably fold and scramble to cover his ass rather than risk jail time.”

Sitting back, he went on edgily, “It’s the timing that’s the issue. If the ‘control’ finds out we’re on to him, and he’s ruthless enough, he could close down the training center and bury Blair with it – and then deny everything. But it’s Brackett that really worries me. He’s the loose cannon in this operation. About the only thing predictable about him is that he’ll do whatever it takes to meet his own goals.”

“You think he’s running around loose?”

“I don’t know – Jack’s checking on that – but Brackett has got to be the connection, the one who convinced whoever that Blair was worth grabbing. It only makes sense that he’d try to make a deal that included being able to walk. But … Blair’s note stressed that the ‘assassin’ was a continuing threat.” Looking up at Simon, he asked, “If you were running this op, and Brackett was your ace in the hole to ensure compliance, would you let him loose?”

Simon shook his head. “No, no I wouldn’t trust him to stay handy. He’d vanish faster than smoke in a strong wind.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figure, too. So, if he thought he was buying his freedom by tossing Sandburg to the dogs, and that fell through, he’s got to be pissed. And it ups the ante. Means he could still be on the leash. If we tip our hand, and the price of his freedom is a killing spree, then ….”

Simon’s cheeks puffed and then he blew a long breath. “Guess we better not tip our hand.”

“Just in case, I have to make damned sure that Naomi is safe.”

“You gonna tell her about Blair?”

“No. Not sure she could stop herself from publicly rejoicing.”

“Then how do you plan to keep her under wraps?”

Jim snorted. “Give me a break. I’m still getting used to the idea that Houdini is still alive. The idea of trying to keep track of that man’s mother boggles the mind.” He took another sip of the whiskey and sighed heavily. “With my luck, she’s already halfway to Tibet or some other equally remote place, and I’ll never find her.”

Simon glanced at the clock on the wall. “Do you know her number? Maybe you should call her now.”

“I’ve got it at home,” he replied as he stood. He tossed back the rest of the whiskey and set the glass on the table. “Once Jack has something, he’ll call you. Until then,” he sighed as he turned to leave, “I guess it’s a waiting game.”

**

As soon as he got back home, Jim called Naomi. “Hey,” he said, “just wanted to make sure you got home alright.”

 _“Thank you, Jim, I’m fine,”_ she replied, sounding tired. _“How are you holding up?”_

“Oh, well, you know,” he muttered, his gaze roaming the apartment. “The silence is hard.” Taking a breath, he continued, “Look, Naomi, I … well, I think Blair would want us to stay in touch, you know? He’d want me to, to make sure you’re okay. So, uh, would you call every once in a while? Let me know when you’re going to be traveling? And where?”

 _“That’s very sweet, Jim, but you don’t have to worry about me,”_ she demurred.

“No, please, I want to stay in touch. I … it’s important to me, Naomi.”

 _“All right,”_ she agreed. _“Maybe you’re right. Maybe it will make it easier somehow. Make us each feel less alone.”_ Her voice caught and trembled as she continued, _“I miss him. I miss knowing he’s in the world.”_

His throat tightened and he closed his eyes as he bowed his head, hating the need to leave her grieving. “I know.” He rubbed his mouth and then offered, “He’d want you to remember the good stuff, not … not the last few days. He wouldn’t want you to be unhappy.”

She sniffed and gave a watery laugh. _“You’re so right,”_ she allowed. _“You knew him so well.”_ She sighed and then said, _“He wouldn’t want you to be unhappy, either, Jim. I guess we both just have to let go of the pain and remember his spirit is still bright and strong.”_ She hesitated and then went on with determined compassion, _“I’m sure he’s near you. If he can, I’m certain he’ll reach out to you. He loved you so much.”_

“His spirit loves both of us,” he replied to give her comfort and because he couldn’t bring himself to use the past tense. “You need to get some rest. I’ll call you again in a few days, okay?”

 _“Yes. Thank you, Jim. I … I appreciate you wanting to stay in touch. Good night.”_

“Good night, Naomi.”

He heard her sob Blair’s name before he broke the connection. Closing his eyes, he fought the anger that surged through him. Anger at Blair for putting them through this. For not having trusted him enough to tell him the truth. For not giving him the chance to help. For lying to him, making him believe what they had would last ….

And anger at himself, for somehow not being the man Blair could rely upon, count on, no matter what. He should have known something was wrong, should have realized they needed to talk about the silences, the re-directions, the sad, haunted looks he’d caught sometimes. Jumbled memories tumbled into his mind, of Blair writing those coded love letters, of Blair looking at him enigmatically, wistfully, while Jim had struggled over his own notes. Now Jim understood the sad shadows darkening Blair’s eyes, and the sharp knowledge of the grief and pain his partner had borne alone tore him apart.

“Dammit, Chief, I hate this,” he groaned as he slid down the wall and, elbows braced on his knees, he pressed his fisted hands against his eyes. He despised feeling so helpless. And he hated knowing there was nothing he could do but wait for Jack to figure out what was going on. Belatedly realizing that someone might listening, he pressed his lips together. _You could have told me_ , he thought, his chest aching. _You should have told me._

 

**

 

The dark, late model sedan led the military bus into the circular drive in front of the lodge. Blair waited on the verandah until both vehicles had stopped, and then went down the steps to the edge of the graveled drive.

Maybourne got out of the sedan and smiled complacently as he waved at the men and women getting off the bus. “I’ve brought your first contingent,” he called cheerfully.

Blair nodded but otherwise ignored the colonel. He waited, silent, until the twenty newcomers garbed in various military uniforms were assembled in two lines, standing at parade rest, their gazes locked on some invisible point in the air and their rucksacks slung over their shoulders.

“Good morning,” he greeted them. “I’m Blair Sandburg and I’ll be working with you for the next few weeks.” A few flicked glances at him, and then returned to staring at nothing, and none of their faces gave anything away. But they looked tired and discouraged despite their military bearing. Sighing, he lifted his hands, and said, “This is not a military facility. While you’re here, I want you to make yourselves comfortable – and I want you to feel free to ask questions and challenge whatever I say.”

Maybourne grimaced. “Mr. Sandburg is a civilian but he’s the expert here and you’ll pay attention to him. He’s going to be your guide.”

“No, not guide,” Blair interjected firmly. “No, I’ll be your teacher. And the most important thing for you to understand right now is that what is happening to you is natural and normal – and is NOT some psychological escape mechanism that somehow means you’re trying to shirk your duty, or are cowards, afraid of going back into active service.” He saw a few of them dart quick looks at both him and Maybourne, clearly picking up on the tension between them. “Behind the lodge,” he went on, “you’ll find twenty cabins. Go get settled and then come back here, to the conference room just off the lobby, in half an hour.”

Stoically and still silent, they turned away and jogged around the side of the building.

“Why did you say you’re not their guide?” Maybourne demanded.

“Because I’m not,” Blair replied shortly. “Look, I can help them better understand and gain some control of their senses, but I won’t be going into action with them. You’re going to have to find people to match up with each of them to provide the backup they’ll need in the field.”

“You didn’t say anything about this before,” Maybourne challenged irritably. “Why can’t you just, uh, calibrate their senses and be done with it?”

“Because it doesn’t work that way,” he retorted. “They’ll each need a partner, someone to watch their backs and to help them focus when the sensory input is overwhelming.” Blair frowned and looked away. He wasn’t going to tell this jerk about the zone-out factor or the danger of being incapacitated by spiking, overloaded senses. No way would he give the creep that kind of power over those men and women.

“How will these ‘guides’ know what to do?” Maybourne asked with a heavy scowl.

“I’ll write some guidelines and you can bring them here for an orientation toward the end of next week,” Blair replied dismissively, turning away to go back into the building. “Look for people who are calm, compassionate. Medics, maybe, who have seen combat so they’re used to the dangers. Pull them from the same service branches as these guys are from, so there’ll be no problem reassigning together in the future.”

Maybourne rolled his eyes and followed Blair into the lodge. “Hold up,” he called. “We’re not done here.” When Blair gave him a stony look, he smiled coldly. “Thought you might want to hear about your memorial service. Lots of people came – and all of them seemed really broken up, your ‘sentinel’, especially. Said he can hardly believe you’re dead. And he said some pretty nice things about you, how brave you were, how compassionate. And that he’d love you beyond death. All very touching.”

Blair turned his face away and closed his eyes as he fought for control. God, he loathed this man with every fiber of his being. “Fine, you’ve told me,” he grated, and then looked up defiantly. “You can go now.”

“Uh, uh,” Maybourne contested. “I want to sit in today, hear what you have to say.”

“No,” Blair refused, coldly adamant. “What I have to say to them, and what they say to me, is strictly confidential. I’ll help these people, but not with you anywhere nearby. You make my skin crawl, Maybourne. I despise you and being around you makes me sick to my stomach. I will not perform like a trained monkey for you – nor will I put any of them in the position of having to do so. So get out. If I need anything, I’ll let you know.”

Maybourne scratched his cheek and grinned. “Well, that’s certainly clear enough. Fine, fine, so long as you deliver, I’ll be satisfied. I’ll send in the ‘guides’ next week – there’re certainly enough rooms in the lodge to accommodate them.”

Blair nodded and turned away. Going to the conference room, he closed the door firmly and only relaxed once he heard the sounds of the vehicle engines start up and then diminish as they drove away.

**

Captain Josh Makins frowned against his persistent headache as he stowed his gear and thought about what he’d just inadvertently heard. There was sure no love lost between that sleazy Colonel Maybourne and this Sandburg – and it sounded like the guy was serving under duress, which didn’t seem right. But Sandburg was a civilian who couldn’t just be ordered around, so why would he be here if he didn’t want to be? Shrugging, Makins figured he’d misunderstood or missed something in the conversation. It wasn’t any of his business.

But he couldn’t help wondering what was all that stuff about sentinels and guides? And what did it have to do with him and the rest who had been ordered to report to this backwater lodge?

Regardless of what was going on between the colonel and Sandburg, the civilian sounded like he knew what he was talking about. Confident. No bullshit.

For the first time in weeks, Josh felt an easing of the anxious knots that twisted in his gut. Maybe, he muttered to himself, he wasn’t going nuts after all. Maybe there really was some kind of explanation other than post-traumatic stress disorder for the weird ways his body had been betraying him.

**

In the next cabin, Sergeant Carrie Shaw fiddled with the strange device on the bedside table and gasped in relief when the thunderous crashing of the wind in the trees and the shrill screeching of birds suddenly disappeared. The absence of wrenching pain was so sudden and unexpected that tears blurred her eyes and she trembled as she sagged into one of the armchairs. Fisting her hands, she fought the urge to scratch off her skin to stop the relentless itching that gave her no peace. Dragging in deep breaths, she hoped with nearly hysterical desperation that this Sandburg would have answers that none of the doctors she’d seen could supply.

Gritting her teeth, she thought of the service revolver in her duffel bag. She couldn’t take this physical insanity much longer. She just couldn’t.

Her gaze fell upon the magic little machine that had given her respite from the pitiless noise that battered her nearly continuously. If this Sandburg had other tricks like this one, maybe there was still a chance of something resembling a normal life for her.

**

Lieutenant Marcus Green paced the narrow confines of his cabin with the mindless restlessness of a caged tiger. At least the scents that surrounded him here were those of clean pine and earth, and not the choking exhaust fumes and garbage and … no, he couldn’t think about those smells or nausea would spike again. He was hungry but even the thought of the awful taste of food left him queasy. He had to eat, though, and soon, because he was growing weaker with each passing day. He drew a shuddering breath and, craving more of the rich forest scents, he slammed out of his cabin to stand under the nearby trees, inhaling deeply.

Turning, he looked at the lodge and wondered about the anger he’d heard in Sandburg’s voice during the brief conversation with Maybourne. Marcus knew who Sandburg was – or at least, knew this was the guy who had claimed to be a liar and a fraud in a press conference about two months ago. None of the news clips had made much sense to him – what the hell were sentinels and who cared anyway? But the sounds he’d heard during the transmission, the thunderous pounding of Sandburg’s heart, and the glisten of unshed tears he’d seen so clearly in the man’s eyes, spangled rainbows that caught the light from the camera – had unnerved him and etched those seconds forever in his memory.

Was the guy a fraud, as he’d claimed? What the hell was truth anyway? The doctors told Marcus that he was conjuring up all these weird physical symptoms to avoid returning to active duty, implying he was afraid – some kind of coward – but he knew that wasn’t true. He was afraid, sure, but not of his job. He was terrified of what was going on with his body because he didn’t understand it and, worse, he couldn’t figure out how to control it.

With a kind of sick dread, he had wondered if he was losing his mind, like one of his uncles had, years ago. God help him, he sure didn’t want to end up a raving lunatic, locked away in some dismal, windowless, padded room. But maybe, just maybe, this Sandburg would have some answers.

Glancing at his watch, he decided enough time had passed and he could find his way to the conference room. Eager for answers, he broke into a jog. Behind him, he could hear cabin doors open and close, and the crunch of other booted feet hurrying along the gravel path to the lodge.

**

Lieutenant Ansel Adams didn’t want to be there. The whole setup seemed pretty weird and he didn’t much care for clandestine operations at the best of times. Disgruntled, he followed the others to the lodge. He was paid to follow orders, so that’s what he’d do.

**

Blair had opened the door after Maybourne left, and was waiting for them. Standing at the far end of the large oval conference table of highly polished dark wood, he observed them as they entered and waved them to seats. Seventeen men and three women, all of them looking fit, if a bit haggard, and all still garbed in various blue, green and tan shades of khaki. He saw some angry-looking rashes, and all of them bore the tell-tale lines and shadows around their eyes that spelled headaches of monumental proportions.

Despite his sense of being there under duress, he felt compassion for them, and couldn’t quite stifle a surge of amazed excitement. All of these young men and women could be sentinels! Taking a breath, he told himself to settle down and not let his inherent awe and enthusiasm overwhelm the calm he wanted to project. No way did he want all twenty of these imposingly athletic soldiers, sailors, marines, rangers, and airmen vying for the right to slam him into the walls, as Jim had done when they’d first met.

The thought of Jim sent a spike of grief lancing through his heart, even as a wistful, sad smile flickered over his lips.

As soon as they were settled and looking at him, he began, “Thanks for being so prompt. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover this morning. First, because I know you’re anxious for answers, I’ll give you some background information about what I think may be happening to you. We’ll do a simple exercise that will, hopefully, help you gain some relief from senses that may be driving you a bit crazy right now. Then, after lunch, we’ll get to know one another, exchange names, that sort of thing, and I’ll begin working with you individually.”

At the mention of senses, several of the warriors quirked an interested brow or sharpened their study of him.

“Okay,” he went on, “it’s my understanding that you have been selected for this program because you have experienced a recent heightening of sensory awareness. Let’s see who is experiencing what. How many of you have trouble with your vision? Things seeming too close, that you shouldn’t be able to see at all, or so large that the details are shocking – like the pores on someone’s skin looking like craters on the moon? Or so bright that your eyes water and it physically hurts?”

After a moment of hesitation, everyone raised a hand. He nodded. “And how many of you are having trouble with hearing? Sounds too loud, again painfully so? Or hearing just cuts out, and it’s like you’re deaf?” Again, everyone responded.

“Uh huh,” he grunted. “Let’s speed this up. Is there anyone who isn’t experiencing overwhelming senses of taste and smell, so violent that ordinary spices burn your mouth or odors make you nauseous?” Not a hand lifted. “Anyone who doesn’t find the material of those uniforms you’re wearing irritating, causing a rash?” Again, not a hand lifted and he had their full attention. Some were leaning toward him, desperate for answers.

“All right, I’m betting that these problems only showed up after you’d spent several days, maybe longer, in isolated circumstances under dangerous conditions.” When heads nodded guardedly, he went on, “And, sometimes, what’s really scary is that you seem to get lost, frozen, as if under some enchanted spell, and you don’t know why, and the tests for epilepsy and other brain exams have all been negative – haven’t turned up any reason.”

“Excuse me, Professor,” one of the men interjected, “but you could have gotten all that information from our medical files.”

“I could have … sorry, I don’t know your name,” Blair agreed as he studied the rawboned man with fine features and ebony skin.

“Lieutenant Marcus Green, Navy SEAL, sir.”

“I’m Blair – not ‘sir’ – and with your permission, I’ll call you Marcus, alright?” When the sailor nodded, Blair continued, “I haven’t seen any of your files. I only knew you were all having some sensory issues that were severe enough at times to be disabling because that’s why you were chosen to participate in this program.” When they looked skeptical, he told them with sober deliberation, “I won’t lie to you, ever, because we are going to have to trust one another to get anywhere. What you say to me stays between us – I’ll be making no notes on your official personnel files, except to release you when you feel you’re ready for active duty.”

“So how do you know all this stuff?” Marcus asked. “Was that news story a couple months ago some kind of scam, or what?”

“Oh, you saw that,” Blair replied with a sigh. He bit his lip as he pushed his hair behind his ears. “Well, that’s not a surprise, I guess. A lot of people across the country must have seen it.”

“What press conference?” a woman with short, ash blond hair asked. “Er, I’m Sergeant Carrie Shaw, Army.”

“A couple months ago, a paper I was working on about modern-day sentinels was released without my permission,” he explained, hoping to keep it simple. “The media attention was compromising the work of a detective in Cascade, Washington, which allowed an international assassin to escape arrest and _that_ resulted in two friends and colleagues being severely wounded, nearly killed. I decided the fastest, easiest way to pull the plug on the media feeding frenzy was to deny the validity of the whole paper. And that’s what the press conference was about.”

He took a breath and continued, “However, the substance of the paper was about men and women who possess extraordinary sensory acuity. In tribal cultures all throughout history, these individuals are called sentinels or watchmen or guardians, and it’s their role to protect the tribe by predicting weather patterns, shifts in game, encroaching enemies, and so on. They are consummate warriors. In such cultures, where they are known and respected, such individuals are given support and training from childhood. However, in our more modern civilizations, we’ve ‘forgotten’ that such gifts can occur naturally in the population, the heightened senses transmitted genetically from one generation to another. Oftentimes, I suspect that many modern sentinels learn to suppress their sensory advantage during childhood, so they won’t be taunted or teased or treated as if they are different or strange. However, I’ve found that significant periods of isolation in tense, potentially dangerous or threatening circumstances reactivate the senses. When that happens, modern sentinels who don’t understand what’s happening to them try to find a physical cause, like an illness, a change in body chemistry, or a psychological reason, like post-traumatic stress, to account for what they perceive as problems. But your senses are not ‘problems’. They are awesome gifts of nature. All you need is help to understand them and to learn how to control them. That’s what we’ll be doing here.”

“So this detective you mentioned in the news – he’s a sentinel?” Marcus probed.

Blair’s gaze dropped and he hesitated. “I won’t lie to you, but I also won’t discuss my … my sentinel with you. He’s … he’s a very good friend, and he deserves the same degree of personal privacy that I will accord each of you.”

“What’s a guide?” a burly man with black curly hair and olive complexion asked. “Uh, I’m Master Corporal Tony Lucelli, Air Force.”

“Tony, a guide is someone who works with you as a partner, someone who helps you focus your senses in particularly overwhelming situations, and who will watch out for you when you’re in danger of slipping into a zone-out – those lapses when you concentrate so fully on one sense that you lose track of everything else. At times like that, you can be very vulnerable to attack.”

“So, from what you and the colonel were talking about, we’ll all be assigned guides?”

Blair smiled and shook his head. “I can see that there will be few secrets amongst us, unless and until you all learn some control. There are white noise generators in each of your cabins that will shut off extraneous noises from outside, to allow you to sleep. And I have one in the lab, for when we’re doing one on one work, as well as in my office, which I’ll activate when we’re having personal conversations. I also have one in my personal quarters. But, yeah, the colonel will be sending people who will work with you as guides. You’ll meet them next week.”

“Wouldn’t it just be easier to turn the damned things off?” a tall, lean man with green eyes and sandy hair demanded. “I’m Captain Josh Makins, Army Rangers.”

“Sorry, Josh, your senses are online and there is no way I know of to turn them off except by a fierce act of will,” Blair answered, compassion in his voice as he recalled how often Jim had ardently wished for the same option. “Look, I know hyperactive senses can be a bear, and I know that right now they are pretty damned scary. But, think about it for a minute! Why would you want to turn them off? Given the roles you each play, particularly in covert operations or missions where you are going into hostile territory, your senses will give you an awesome edge. You can see in the dark without infrared equipment, hear enemy patrols from a significant distance, overhear conversations with no need of artificial devices, smell dangerous agents in the environment, taste whether food or drink is safe or not, and so on – you will be the equivalent of the tribal sentinels, going in first under the most dangerous of circumstances to assess situations, obtain intelligence, conduct delicate and dangerous operations. You have inherent and innate assets that far exceed whatever the enemy can bring to bear against you. I promise you, they won’t seem such a burden and curse once we’ve spent some time together.”

“How can you be so sure?” Marcus asked belligerently.

“Because I’ve done this before, with a sentinel who came on-line just the way you guys did, and who thought he was going insane,” Blair responded matter-of-factly. “And now his control is awesome and he has chosen, twice, to keep his abilities when he was given the chance to walk away from them.”

“So there is a way to turn them off,” Josh persisted.

Once again, Blair raked his hair back as he wondered what he could say that these very pragmatic people would accept. Pulling out the chair in front of him, he slipped into it and leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table. For a long moment, he studied the table, avoiding all of their gazes, and then he looked up and around at each of them. “Nearly a year ago, I drowned – was murdered, actually. I was cold and dead. But the sentinel I was working with was able to call upon our spirit guides to bring me back to life. I know how impossible that sounds. And I know that the idea of a spiritual aspect to all this is probably something you’d rather not hear about – and no doubt have difficulty believing. But … but my sentinel worked with a shaman in Peru years before we ever met and he was introduced to aspects of reality that most of us never experience in our so-called modern, scientific society. The spirit world offered him a chance to decide whether or not he wished to continue to be a sentinel. And that shaman told him that a sentinel would be a sentinel so long as he or she chose to be one. So, yeah, I guess, in a metaphysical way, there is a means of denying your gifts, of turning away from your birthright. But I don’t know how to take you into that world, or how to give you that choice.”

They gaped at him and some rolled their eyes before shaking their heads and looking away. He sighed and lifted his hands. “All I can tell you is that all that really happened. Whether you choose to believe me or not is up to you.” Straightening, his tone more directive, he decided it was time to get back to their tangible issues. “Right now, the first thing you all need to learn how to do is to control the intensity of your senses. You _can_ turn them up or down, for comfort or to draw on more refined capability.”

He consciously lowered his tone and slowed his delivery as he went on, “I want you to close your eyes and relax in your chairs. Good. Now, take slow, deep breaths and then exhale slowly. Again … good. And once more. And again … that’s right.” He waited and observed them as their bodies began to relax. “Okay, now I want you to picture five dials, like radio dials, in your head. Each dial represents a sense and ranges from one, low intensity, to ten, high intensity. I suspect at least one dial and probably more are turned too high. One at a time, turn each dial down, notch by notch, to four or five, until you feel comfortable. Your skin isn’t itching. Smells aren’t offensive. Sound isn’t grating on your ears. Light isn’t burning your eyes. Once you have each dial turned down to a comfortable level, take another deep breath, let it out slowly and … relax.”

Most seemed to get the concept right away. In a few, short minutes, the tension had eased from their faces and bodies and they smiled with no little wonder and relief. But some, like Carrie, were evidently having difficulty, so he patiently worked them through the process, one dial at a time, until each one of them had achieved success.

Carrie heaved a massive sigh and a tremulous, soft, “Wow … it works!”

“Yeah, it does. So you see, the senses can be managed. You do have a means of control. They do _not_ control you,” he encouraged with a warm smile, and then glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s nearly time for lunch in the dining room. But first, I want you to all go back to your cabins and get out of those uniforms. The material is too stiff and rough for your skin. While you’re here, I want you to wear comfortable, soft clothing – natural fibers are best. If you don’t have cotton or silk, let me know, and I’ll arrange to have new stuff brought for you. After lunch, we’ll get started on individual work. Okay? Any questions?”

“More a comment,” Josh said. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to just ignore rank here. There’s a certain protocol, not to mention issues of discipline and respect to consider.”

Blair nodded. “I understand all that,” he replied. “And I’m sure you will all remember appropriate military protocols when you leave here. But while you’re here, you’re not Captain or Corporal – you’re all sentinels. All starting out at the same place and learning together. All equal in your capacity and potential, not to mention your current confusion. You’ve all got enough to deal with in learning how to manage and control your senses without worrying about who is supposed to salute whom. You’re one of the ranking officer in this group, Josh, and I can’t dictate this equality. But I’d appreciate it if you’d support me in it.”

Josh held his steady gaze, and then he nodded. “You make a reasonable case, Professor. Makes sense. Thanks for sharing your views and, yes, okay, I’ll support you. Rank stops and starts at the edge of the driveway. Fair enough?”

“More than fair. Thanks.”

Once they had all trooped out, he sagged in the chair and covered his face with his hands. God, _twenty_ sentinels! He hadn’t expected they’d _all_ have five hyperactive senses. “Incredible,” he muttered and leaned back. There’d been a time when he’d have been beside himself with excitement to encounter so many sentinels in one place, and to have the opportunity to work with them. Now, he wasn’t exactly sure how he felt. There was too much resentment, anger and grief at having been forced to give up a life he’d loved eating at him to feel much of anything else. But he couldn’t deny that he felt a degree of satisfaction in his ability to help them – and to see the relief on their faces when they’d gained some measure of personal control.

Chewing on his lip, he reflected that none of them seemed to exhibit any territoriality, and that was a bit puzzling, given how aggressively antagonistic Jim had been when Alex had invaded his turf. Frowning, he scratched his cheek. Maybe that was the key. This lodge was his turf, not theirs, so they felt no need to ‘protect’ it from other sentinels. Or maybe it was just that they were all still so overwhelmed that the territoriality aspect hadn’t yet emerged. It was something he was going to have to watch out for.

Pushing himself to his feet, he wandered into the dining room. Though he still had no appetite, he knew he had to eat. Scolding himself for his continuing despondency, telling himself that it wasn’t like he was being held prisoner in some hell-hole or being tortured and abused, reminding himself that what he was doing was what he’d wanted for nearly half his life, he straightened his shoulders and called a greeting to Sergeant Freeborne.

“The buffet looks great – and there’s sure plenty of food! Thank you, Milt. The others will be here in a few minutes.”

“Blair, let me introduce you to my two local helpers, Mary Sams and Jenny-Lou Sommers,” Milt replied with a wide smile as he gestured to the two women. Mary, a sturdy middle-aged woman, wore the apron and cap of the assistant cook, and Jenny-Lou was a lithe young woman sporting pigtails and jeans, who evidently helped with the setup and cleanup of the communal meals.

“I’m pleased to meet both of you,” he said with a smile that he hoped seemed sincere. All the self-talk hadn’t done a damned thing to ease the feeling that he was dying inside.

But Blair figured his cheerful act needed a fair amount of work when Milt’s smile dimmed and the older man gripped his shoulder supportively as he murmured, “Make sure you eat something, son – you’re looking a little peaked.”

 

**

 

“Jim, what are you doing here? I thought you had a few more days off,” Joel exclaimed with evident concern when they ran into each other in the corridor outside Major Crime.

Shrugging and looking way, he replied, “Sitting at home all morning was driving me nuts. I, uh, I need to get back to work.”

“Yeah, I hear you,” Joel sighed with sorrowful compassion. “Listen, if there’s anything I can do – that any of us can do – to help, you let us know, okay?”

“I will, Joel, thanks. And thank you for arranging the service. Blair would really appreciate it, and I’m grateful to you for taking care of everything.”

Joel’s eyes glistened and, evidently struggling with his emotions, he looked away, nodding wordlessly. He was so obviously hurting that Jim surprised himself by reaching out to wrap the big man in a hug. “I know,” Jim rasped. “It’s hard.”

Joel sniffed and, swiping his eyes, he drew away. Clearing his throat, he apologized, “I’m sorry, man. I’m supposed to be comforting you. But … it’s just so damned unfair. Blair was, well, he was special. Nothin’ seems the same without him. I miss him, Jim. I miss him bad.”

His eyes downcast, Jim nodded. He hated not being able to ease Joel’s grief with the truth; the pretence made him feel dirty and dishonest. Joel, and the others, deserved better. But there was no way around it, at least not yet. “Would mean a lot to Blair to know that,” he offered, and promised himself that he’d make sure Blair did know it, hopefully someday soon. “I miss him, too,” he added, his voice strangled and tight.

“I’m just heading to the breakroom, an’ I’ll bring you back a coffee,” Joel rallied in the face of Jim’s apparent pain, as he clapped Jim on the shoulder and turned away.

Steeling himself for the coming encounters with the rest of his colleagues, Jim squared his shoulders and strode into the bullpen. God, he hoped Jack would come up with some definite information soon. The waiting – _the not knowing_ – was driving him crazy.

**

Blair started the afternoon with a roll call, to put names to faces, and then set them to work writing personal journals to detail their sensory experiences such as when their hyperactive senses manifested, under what circumstances, what tests they’d undergone, what their spikes felt like, which sense or senses aggravated them the most, and so on. He explained that he wanted them to make entries in the journal at least once each day to note what they were learning, what worked for them, their questions and concerns, and what they each most wanted to learn how to do with their senses and under what circumstances.

“Just in general,” he added with a quizzical smile. “I know some of you, maybe all of you have classified duties and I wouldn’t want you to have to kill me after you’ve told me how your senses could be most useful in your jobs.”

Josh snorted and several others chuckled. It was enough. He felt as if he was beginning to break the ice with them.

“While you’re writing in your journals, I’ll be working with each of you, one at a time, to begin testing the range of your senses, so we know what we’re dealing with and what your potential is. Josh, you mind being the first one up?”

“Happy to,” the Captain replied. Standing, he followed Blair from the room.

Blair took Josh to the lab and, as they entered, he turned on the white noise machine.

“Why the soundproofing?” Josh asked curiously.

“I want everyone to feel safe to say exactly what they want, and describe what’s happening, without worrying about whether everyone else is listening in,” Blair replied with a shrug. “This is tough stuff and you’re all doing a great job pretending you’re holding it together. And maybe some of you are. But I bet some are close to crumbling from the pain and discomfort, and the fear of wondering if it will always be this bad. It won’t. But it’s going to take some time for everyone to know that, to believe it.” Gesturing at the machines and the samples in glass beakers on the counter, he added, “And some of these tests aren’t pleasant. Some may be a bit painful. I don’t want anyone feeling like they have to maintain some kind of macho act and just endure. I need to know what the limits of comfort are and people need the safety valve of being able to bitch at me for being put through all of this.”

Josh gave him a wry smile. “Sounds like you’re talking from experience.”

Blair’s eyes darkened and he looked away. “I am,” he said hollowly. “I know this is all far from easy or pleasant. But what I’ve learned through trial and error will help me make it all easier for you guys.”

Leaning against the counter that lined one side of the room under a bank of cupboards, Josh crossed his arms. “I heard what Maybourne said this morning. About the ‘memorial service’. What’s going on here? Why are you doing this? And did the good colonel give you any choice?”

“Oh, he gave me choices,” Blair replied, trying hard not to sound bitter, but knowing he was failing.

“Maybourne works for NID. They don’t have the best rep for ethical action,” Josh said flatly. “If he’s holding you here against your will, that’s illegal. You don’t have to stand for it.”

Blair’s lips thinned and he shook his head as he waved Josh toward a seat before the light spectrometer. “You guys all need help and I’ve got the knowledge and skills to help you master your senses. I take that seriously, Josh, because you’ve all taken an oath to protect our country with your lives. And your lives will be endangered if you go back on duty without knowing how to handle yourselves. I’ll do my best for all of you. You don’t have to worry that I’ll only give a half-assed effort here.”

“I’m not worried about that – and you didn’t answer my questions.”

“I can’t answer them,” Blair replied with studied calm. “Other lives are in the balance. Let it go, Josh. Regardless of the circumstances, I’m … I’m glad to help you and the others. So let’s get started.”

Josh shrugged as he settled on the stool behind the machine. “Okay, Professor. But if you decide you’d like some help, just say the word. I don’t dedicate my life to freedom lightly – and I don’t much care for Colonel Maybourne.”

Blair gave him a bleak smile. “No? Well, you might want to modify your views. After all, it’s because of Maybourne that you and the others no longer have to worry about whether or not you’re losing your minds or if your life will be a living hell.”

“I’m all in favour of the ends, here, Blair. It’s the means that worry me.”

“Thanks, Josh. But, seriously, this isn’t your battle.” Blair calibrated the machine and explained that he wanted Josh to look past the lights and colors that would begin flashing at irregular intervals. Blair wanted to determine his range of vision on the light spectrum as well teach the man how to focus his sight despite external distractions. “Let’s get to work.”

**

Jim tried, but he just could not concentrate. All he could think about was that Blair hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him the truth soon enough to do anything about it. And his gut was in knots, all tied up with worry about where his partner was, and if he was all right.

“Jimbo, are you sure you’re ready to be back at work?” Megan asked softly, startling him out of his dark thoughts.

“I can do my job,” he snapped and then grimaced with regret. He wiped a hand over his face and sighed. “I’m sorry, Connor. You’re probably right, but being here is easier than listening to the silence in the loft.”

She studied him soberly, and then nodded. “You don’t need to carry it all alone, you know. If you want to talk or ….” Her voice petered out. “No, I guess that’s not your style, is it, mate?”

Looking away, he shook his head.

“Anything you need, and anything I can do to help you, I will,” she promised. “Sandy would expect no less and, well, we’re all ready to support you as best we can. We know it’ll never be the same, but ….”

“I hear you,” he cut in, still avoiding her gaze. He couldn’t talk about it, couldn’t deal with the sympathy, and loathed the fact that they were all being kind and were all grieving, and he couldn’t do a damned thing about it. Lies. God damn it, he was so sick of the lies. Not just the current lie, but all of them. For years, he’d been lying to his colleagues, by omission if not commission. And they all knew it. They knew that press conference was a pile of shit, that Blair had sacrificed himself and lied to protect him. He knew they knew it. How could they all still be so kind? So compassionate? How could they stand the sight of him? Swallowing hard, he said with a deep-seated grief for the past that he knew she would misread, “And I appreciate it. I really do. I … I just need some time.”

“Jim! You got a minute?” Simon called from his office doorway.

Feeling perversely as if he’d been saved by the bell, and anxious to learn if Jack had called, Jim jumped to his feet. As he rounded the desk, he laid a light hand on her shoulder. “I know you’re grieving, too. If you ever want to talk ….”

She gave him a sad smile. “Thanks,” she murmured.

He hurried to Simon’s office and closed the door.

“Jack just called,” Banks said as he waved Jim to a chair. “Brackett is still in Leavenworth.”

“Has he found out anything else?”

“Not yet,” Simon replied heavily. He reached for a file behind him on the desk and flipped it open. “I’ve discovered something, though it’s not much help. This is the accident report. I checked on the eye witness who saw Blair’s car go over the edge. There’s no such person. He had to be part of the setup.”

“Damn it,” Jim muttered, disgusted. “If I’d talked to him myself, I might have picked up that he was lying.”

“Jim, none of this is your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” he retorted angrily, pushing himself up to pace in agitation. “Isn’t it all my fault? If I’d been straight with people from the beginning about my senses, none of this would have happened. Hell, Blair would be here, would have presented his paper and gotten his doctorate. There would have been no press conference. He wouldn’t have attracted the attention of whoever has him now. They wouldn’t have been able to coerce him into going along with this sick charade. And why didn’t I notice something was wrong, huh? Hell, I spent the past six weeks with the man and I knew something was worrying him – but did I push to find out what? No. It was easier to let it ride, to just assume it was natural jitters about becoming a cop. And if I hadn’t lost it at the scene, and later at the apartment, we might have nailed the bastards doing this before … before they took him away.”

Simon rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Oh, come on, don’t take more than your share,” he thundered heatedly. “There were a lot of good reasons to keep quiet about your senses, and there still are. And I didn’t see you put a gun to his head to force him into that press conference. Blair made his own choices – and he chose, albeit for pretty compelling reasons, to keep you in the dark about this latest mess. You are _not_ responsible for the acts of unprincipled and unethical people – it’s not your fault that some creep in the government or military or whatever decided that they needed what Blair could give them. Hell, Jim, you might as well blame Blair for everything that’s happened because he spent most of his life searching for sentinels, and for insinuating himself into your life so he could study you and help you. They didn’t take him because _you’re_ a sentinel. They took him because of what _he_ knows, because of _his_ skills. Even if you’d gone public long ago, or owned up to the senses when the story broke, they probably would have still come after him because he’s got what they want. That’s it, that’s all.”

Leaning on the window sill and staring blindly out at the street, Jim grated grudgingly, “Okay, fine, you may be right.” Straightening, he turned to face Simon. “But you know what? That’s not good enough. The facts are that he didn’t trust me enough to tell me, and that if I hadn’t wanted so badly to keep it all a secret, they wouldn’t have had leverage over him.”

“What? You don’t think threatening to kill his mother and you was sufficient leverage? Get real, Jim. All this assessment of blame and whining about why it’s your fault doesn’t change any of the facts. This bastard, whoever he is, had Blair by the short and curlies. They wanted someone who could train sentinels for them, pure and simple. From what you told me last night, they didn’t give him any choice but to play by their rules.”

When Jim only glared at him, Simon sighed and shook his head. Rounding his desk, he poured two cups of coffee and set one on the edge of his desk for Jim before sitting down. “Look,” he offered in a calmer tone, “yesterday you found out he’s still alive. Hold onto that. This isn’t over. We’ll find him and we’ll find a way to bring him home.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Jim agreed wearily. Moving away from the window, he picked up the steaming mug and sat down. “It’s just that ….”

“What?”

“He didn’t trust me, Simon. Not enough to risk telling me sooner. And I’m having a hell of a time getting past that.”

“Well, I guess that’s something the two of you will have to work out once he’s back home.”

Jim nodded and sipped on the coffee. Leaning back in the chair, he said quietly, “I want to start making some changes.”

“Like what?”

“Like telling the others everything about my senses,” he replied, gesturing toward the bullpen. “They deserve to know the details.”

“Fine,” Simon agreed. “The more they understand, the better backup they’ll be able to give you in the field. But I don’t want it going further than that. Not yet, anyway. We don’t need any leaks – and we sure in hell don’t need another media circus. For Blair’s sake as much as yours, we need to keep a low profile.”

“Blair left a copy of his paper on his laptop. I’ll bring it in tomorrow and print it. And we’ll take it from there.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

Jim leaned forward and cradled the mug in his hands. “Simon … you should know that Blair and I –”

Banks held up his hand, palm out, as he sharply cut in, “Whoa, just hold on a minute. I think I may know what you’re about to tell me, and I’m not sure this is the time or place.”

When Jim looked up and frowned, he went on gently, “Jim, what I know or suspect as your friend is separate from what I know for a fact as your boss. I’m assuming you and Blair will still want to work together when we get him back, right?” At Jim’s nod, he said, “Then let’s not forget departmental regs, okay? Let’s just leave it that I have a pretty good idea of how much you and Blair mean to each other.”

“Like everyone else has had ‘a pretty good idea’ for years now?” Jim slammed, stung. The deep ache in his gut, the suffocating hurt in his chest – he needed Blair, hungered for him, and was so damned terrified of never seeing him again. He wanted to rage and weep and … he felt like he might explode. He needed, badly, to talk about Blair, to acknowledge what Blair meant to him, everything that Blair was in his life. Not talking about him felt perversely like a denial of Blair, of his love for his partner, and he couldn’t do that, couldn’t, not now, not when talking about the man was the only way he had of holding onto him, of keeping him present and knowing what they had was real. He’d never felt like this before, this need to share his loneliness and despair, and he couldn’t believe Simon was shutting him out.

Simon didn’t snarl back. His expression softened with compassion so tangible that Jim felt his eyes sting, and his throat tightened. “No, not like that,” Simon said quietly. “I know there was nothing between the two of you, despite the fact that I think everyone was sensing the truth of how you both felt but hadn’t acknowledged. But I never saw you as happy as you were the morning you came back from leave – and even when Blair was lying dead beside that fountain, I’ve not seen you as broken as you were the day of the crash. And I could see what it meant to you last night, when you realized by some miracle he was still alive.” He paused and looked away. “I know, Jim. But, as your boss, I can’t acknowledge that.”

Jim sagged and bowed his head. He should have thought of that. Life partners weren’t supposed to be partnered at work. It was too great a risk in dicey situations where personal emotion had no place. He was just going to have to hold it all inside, just like he’d always done. Always … before Blair had come into his life and taught him to open up and showed him that it was okay to need someone else. But he wasn’t the same man as he’d been, wasn’t the inveterate loner anymore. It scared him, because he no longer knew how to survive this way.

“It’s late enough to call it a day,” Simon offered gently. “How about the two of us go grab a couple of cool ones someplace quiet? Some place where two old friends can just talk.”

Jim’s eyes blurred with the gratitude of knowing it was, indeed, safe to let go of the control that was fast shattering. Pressing his lips together to stop their traitorous trembling, he nodded. Clearing his throat, blinking hard, he looked up at his friend. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” Simon said as he locked away his files.

 

**

 

Alone in the conference room, Blair rubbed his temples. Maybourne had called him at lunch, to cheerfully tell him that his mother was back home and, though she looked understandably sad and wan, she seemed to be in otherwise good health. The Colonel added, with a salacious twist in his tone, that his partner had returned to work that morning. Blair hadn’t been able to speak. Had just hung up the phone. But he’d gotten the message. Maybourne was keeping tabs on Naomi and Jim, and was letting him know that he could reach out and touch them – or have Brackett do so – at any time.

It had taken everything Blair had to go back into the conference room to assign his students their work, and then to do the testing all afternoon. Thank God, Josh, Marcus, Tony and eight of the others had weathered the discomforts well, so all he’d had to do was concentrate. Though Josh’s questioning had left him feeling raw and helpless.

But Carrie had lost it and he was annoyed with himself for not having noticed the tell-tale trembling and shallow breathing until she’d broken down into a storm of tears. He found out that she was having trouble managing the dials and her skin rash was unbearable. After getting her calmed down enough to listen to him, he’d again worked her through her dials and had given her a natural, hypoallergenic lotion as well as a box of oatmeal bath flakes. He’d sent her directly back to her cabin before returning to the conference room.

He needed a break from the ever-present anxieties and the rigorous concentration of the long afternoon. So, when he rejoined the others, he asked them to leave their journals for his quick review, told them he’d finish the rest of the individual testing that evening, and sent them off to enjoy the late afternoon sunshine.

Ignoring the headache that thumped behind his eyes, trying to wall off the fury and fear he’d felt since Maybourne’s call, he moved around the table, scanning the journal entries and making note of any needs or concerns listed. Marcus hadn’t mentioned his uncle during their session that afternoon; nor was he the only one who had a relative who had exhibited unusual sensory acuity and/or what was thought to be mental instability requiring institutionalization, usually with a diagnosis of catatonic schizophrenia. Blair shook his head and wondered how many others were out there, around the world, suffering because no one understood them and their needs, their amazing potential to contribute in so, so many different areas of human endeavor. He started a separate list of the relatives mentioned, intending to ask if they were still alive. There had to be a way to help them, too.

Chewing on his lip as he wrote, he decided he had to find a way to get more information out to the public. But he didn’t know how to go about it. He couldn’t publish under his own name and credentials. Even without the need to continue to protect Jim and now all these other nascent sentinels, he was supposed to be dead. Sighing, frowning against the headache that was worsening, he let it go for the time being.

 _Let it go._

His new mantra. _Let it go. Let it go. Let it go,_ echoed in his mind, drumming along with the pounding in his skull. Let the anger go, and the grief. Let the pain go … along with the dreams, and hopes for what his life might have been.

 _Let it go. Let it go._ Providing he did what he was told, Jim and Naomi should be safe.

But he couldn’t stop his memories of Jim’s slumped figure or the gut-wrenching grief he’d heard. Nor could he stop his imagination from picturing Jim at the memorial service. Jim, and his mother, and all their friends. Did Jim know yet, that he was still alive? Or did the love of his life still believe him dead and gone?

Well, he was gone, wasn’t he? His life with Jim was over and done.

In a paroxysm of helpless fury, he slammed his fists on the conference table and then leapt up to pace, back and forth, back and forth, to work off the rage.

He had to get it together, had to. Couldn’t do what he had to do, couldn’t be any good to these men and women with half his mind and all his heart consumed by anguish.

Time.

He needed to give himself time to adjust. It had only been days, right? But how much time was it going to take? Would he finally get to a point where the pain was only a dull ache and not this constant ripping at his guts?

Slumping against the wall, his face in his hands, he fought the lump that built in his chest and threatened to choke him. “Ah, Jim,” he whispered brokenly. “Ah, God, Jim.”

**

Sitting on the verandah, soaking up the slanting rays of the sun, Josh and Marcus heard the tortured whispers.

“Something’s not right about all this,” Marcus muttered.

“Yeah, I know,” Josh agreed with a scowl. “I tried to talk to him about it this afternoon, but he only said other lives were on the line and it wasn’t my fight. He as much as admitted, though, that Maybourne forced him into this.”

“You believe what he said this morning – about his sentinel bringing him back from the dead?” Marcus asked with a sidelong look.

Josh shrugged. “I think he believes it.”

“I believe it,” Marcus admitted then, his gaze roaming the forested hills. “I saw that press conference a couple months ago. At the time, I figured it was true, except I could see the tears in his eyes and I could hear his heartbeat going a mile a minute. But I wrote it off as nerves and guilt for doing what he claimed. I mean, who would believe all that sentinel stuff anyway?”

Josh snorted and shook his head. “If you asked me yesterday, I would’ve said the whole thing sounded nuts. But … those dials work. And there’s no doubt that he knows what he’s doing, that he’s worked with someone else like us.”

“Yeah. And he misses _his_ sentinel like blazes, that’s clear. What kind of power does it take? What kind of love, to bring someone back from the dead?”

“Same kind of love that leads a man to give up everything, even go along with pretending he’s dead, to protect the ones who really matter,” Josh replied hollowly, despising the picture of events that was shaping up.

“You think we should do something about it?”

“I think we need to keep our ears open and dig up more information; we don’t know what Maybourne is holding over him. If we’re not careful, we could make things worse,” Josh cautioned. “But, yeah, at some point? I think we need to see if anything can be done.”

“You can count me in,” Tony said as he came around the corner of the lodge. “Something about all this stinks.” Dropping onto a step, he added, “I think pretty much everyone feels the same about the bits we’ve overheard. That man in there is hurting bad and doing his damnedest to not show it, but his heart is going too fast, his breathing is tight, and there’s a fine tremor in his hands. He’s going to have a heart attack if something doesn’t give soon.”

When the other men didn’t say anything, Tony sighed and shook his head. “But, man, despite all that, he’s sure working hard for us. I gotta say, going through those tests _once_ is a pain. He might not have to deal with the sensory end of them, but he’s got to be focused, with no breaks, for all of us – and he’s already given me, and I suspect everyone, some great suggestions for control. Don’t know about you and the rest, but I thought life as I’d known it was over before I came here. I sure appreciate the help and I’m looking forward learning everything he can teach me. Feels like I should give something back, you know? I feel like I owe the guy.”

The other men nodded their agreement. Tony was right. They’d all picked up enough to know Blair was scared of something and hurting as bad as anyone they’d ever seen. And yet, he was helping them, all of them, doing his best by them. Though they were just getting to know the guy, they knew he was important to them, maybe more important than anyone had ever been in their lives. Knowing he was in trouble was like an itch they couldn’t scratch, doubly annoying because they were people of action, used to doing what needed to be done.

But what needed to be done to make things right for Blair?

**

Simon and Jim nursed icy bottles of beer in a dark corner of the bar a couple blocks from the loft.

“How did it go with Naomi last night?” Simon asked.

“About like you’d expect,” Jim replied morosely. “For all her talk about the immortality of the soul, she’s taking it hard.” Looking across the table at Simon, guilt in his eyes, he admitted, “I hate this. Lying to her, to Joel, Megan and the others. Makes me feel like shit.”

“Yeah, I know,” Simon agreed with a grimace. “I don’t like it, either, but we don’t have much choice, not until we know who’s involved and whether we’re all being watched.” He took a sip of beer, and then ventured, “So, you and Sandburg … something’s changed, right?”

His gaze shifting away, Jim nodded. “Yeah, everything’s changed.” He hesitated and then admitted, “Guess you could say that we were on our honeymoon.” Sighing, he leaned back in the booth and picked at the label on the bottle. Flicking a glance at Simon, he asked, “You okay with this? If it makes you uncomfortable ….”

“Oh, hell, Jim,” Simon grunted, “it’s been obvious since damned near the first day that the two of you were strongly affiliated. Maybe it has something to do with the sentinel thing, I don’t know. But I do know – and so does everyone else who knows the two of you – that you guys love each other. Not only have you bickered like an old married couple for years but … well, it took something pretty damned powerful to bring Blair back at the fountain, and he sacrificed himself for you on national television. And, yeah, I know you both very much enjoy the company of women but … but there’s an affinity between the two you … hell, I can’t really explain it but, damn, you guys _lean_ into one another, always have. Have no personal space. And you never did. The only thing that surprises me, I guess, is that it took so long to get physical about how you feel.”

Jim frowned and rubbed his mouth as he struggled with how to put what he felt into words. “I don’t know if I can explain it, Simon, but it’s more than just physical. I … I feel whole now, as if some part was missing and I didn’t know it until I found it. I didn’t know it was possible to be that happy. And … and losing him like this, not knowing where he is or if he’s okay – it’s driving me crazy. The fact that he agreed to do this to protect me and his mother, that he … I don’t know. He gives too much, you know? He doesn’t count himself, his needs, his life in the balance.”

Simon shrugged. “He loves the both of you. He’d do anything to keep the two of you safe, you know that.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Jim agreed. “I just wish he’d get it into his thick skull that he doesn’t have to take on the world all by himself, you know? And … and, God, I miss him so bad.” His throat closed and he couldn’t speak – had to fight back the emotion that filled his chest.

“We _will_ find him, Jim,” Simon assured him. “And we’ll do whatever it takes to fix things so that he can come back home.”

“What if we can’t?” he argued. “We don’t know what kind of power and influence the perp has.” Setting the bottle down, he leaned his elbows on the table. “You won’t want to hear this but, if it turns out to be necessary, I’ll go on the run with him. I’ll do whatever it takes to get him back and be with him.”

“That’s a last resort and I hope it won’t be necessary,” Simon replied. “All we can do is take this a step at a time and see how it plays out.”

**

“Okay, today, we’re going to get out of this room and get some fresh air,” Blair told them first thing the next morning. “I want you to count off, one, two, one, two, around the table.” Once they’d numbered into pairs, he explained, “Every pair is going to be a team today, one watching the other exercising the senses, because you’re all likely to fall into a zone at least once.” Everyone in the room stiffened in resistance. “Hey, don’t worry about it when it happens – it’s natural. The watcher will call me and I’ll show you how to bring someone out of a zone, so you can see that there’s no mystery about it. It’s really just a matter of engaging other senses to draw a person back from being too deep in just one. While we’re outside, I’ll be giving you sight, hearing, and scent tasks to carry out, to get used to stretching your senses. If things go well, by the end of the day you may already be piggybacking one sense onto another to extend your reach.”

“Piggy-backing?” Ross, another airman, echoed with a look of confusion.

With a smile, Blair reassured him, “It’ll make more sense – no pun intended – when you’re doing it. Seriously, don’t worry. This is the fun part of learning about your senses and seeing what they can do. Milt has made up lunch bags and we’ll pick them up in the dining room on the way out. Come on – let’s go for a hike in the forest.”

**

Once Jim had made the copies of Blair’s paper, Simon called everyone, including Rhonda, into his office. Perhaps it was the grim expression on his face that kept them silent as they took seats around the conference table and looked from him to Jim with curious expressions.

“Jim, this is your show,” he said, once they were all settled.

Jim nodded. “I’ve made a file here for each of you; please take one and pass the rest on,” he instructed as he placed two stacks at each end of the table. “Inside, you’ll find a copy of Blair’s dissertation. Every word of it is true.”

Henri frowned as he took a folder and flipped it open. “Why’re you giving this to us now, huh? It’s a bit late, isn’t it?” he demanded.

“Brown!” Simon snapped. “That’s enough.”

“No, no, that’s alright, Simon. H’s got a right to be angry. You all do,” Jim hastily intervened. Sighing, he sat down beside Simon and clasped his hands together. “I should have been straight with all of you a long time ago. Sure as hell should have come clean when the story broke. But … but I had my reasons. Maybe not good ones, not good enough anyway.” He paused and rubbed his mouth.

“Ah, I’m sorry, Jim,” Brown offered, sounding contrite and embarrassed about his outburst. “I just, well, I just feel so bad about Hairboy, you know?”

Jim nodded. “I know,” he replied, his voice low with his effort to keep it steady. Taking a breath, he lifted his eyes to meet their gazes. “You’ve all guessed the truth, I know that. But you deserve to know the facts about what I can do. And, and, frankly … I can’t do it alone. Blair helped me focus. Helped me when I’d zone, uh, get lost in a single sense – it’s all there in the paper.” His gaze dropped, but then he straightened his shoulders and faced them. “I need you to know about all this, so that you can help me when we’re working on cases together.”

“We’ll all do what we can, Jim. You know that,” Joel assured him, and the rest nodded solemnly.

“Thanks, Joel, all of you.” Jim licked his lips and seemed about to say something, only to hesitate. He glanced at Simon and then said, “Blair … Blair did everything he could to help me keep it all a secret. To protect me. He, uh, well, we both worried about the information getting into the wrong hands and having it used against me. That’s the main reason we never told you. But Blair deserves to have you all know the truth; to know what an important role he played in my life. He … he saved my sanity and he saved my life, more times than I can tell you. I should have said something when he gave that press conference. I should have come clean then. But … things were happening so fast. I talked to him about it that day that, that Simon offered … but he didn’t want me to. And then, and then …” Jim’s voice cracked and he pressed his lips together as he bowed his head.

“I think we all understand, Jim,” Simon said quietly as he laid a hand on Jim’s shoulder. Turning to the group, he went on, “Jim’s not the only one who didn’t say anything. I’ve known since Blair first started here, but I agreed that the secret was worth keeping. At first, well, because it all just seemed so incredible, and Jim and Blair were still trying to figure it all out. Then, later …” he shrugged. “Things were going fine. There didn’t seem to be any need to talk about it.” He shook his head. “I, too, wish we’d shared all this with you when we knew the story was about to break. But we can’t undo the past.”

Megan sniffed and dabbed at one eye. “Blair would be … Blair would be stoked that you’re doing this, Jim. Glad, I mean. He’d … he’d want you to let us all help you.”

Jim looked up at her and then away. A small, sad smile quirked the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Blair wouldn’t want me to try to do this on my own.” He gazed at all of them in turn. “He’d be really grateful to all of you, for being willing to help me. And so am I. Once you’ve read the paper, if you have any questions, just let me know and I’ll do my best to answer them.”

Simon looked around at his people and decided there was no need to caution them to keep the files locked away. They’d rally around Jim and would protect him; would protect his secret. Even if they still held some anger toward Jim, they’d do it for Blair. “Okay, that’s it for today,” he said, ending the meeting. “Let’s get back to work.”

**


	2. Chapter 2

As he trooped through the woods surrounded by men and women who were all taller than he was, Blair couldn’t help a small, wry smile. Though he considered himself to be of average height, he seemed fated to feel like Tom Thumb. And given that they were all in top physical condition, he was glad he’d been chasing around after a similarly athletic sentinel for years, or he’d have had trouble keeping up – so far as he could see, they never simply walked or strolled anywhere, but were always moving in a long, ground-eating lope or jog.

Once they’d worked off some energy, he set their first task – listening for birds in distant trees and pushing themselves to see how far away they were. Once each sentinel in a pair had zeroed in on a given bird, he told them to block out everything but that sound and listen harder still. Not surprisingly, several zoned out and alarmed cries for “Blair!” began to resound under the trees. Each time, he patiently showed the watcher in the pair how to use touch and even scent, by rubbing pine needles in his hands and then holding them in front of the faces of the oblivious sentinels, to bring the sentinel out of the zoneout.

“Why don’t you just call her back?” Tony asked.

“Because she’s zoned on sound, so she probably wouldn’t hear me,” Blair replied.

“How long was I out?” was the usual anxious question when the sentinels blinked back into awareness.

“A minute or so,” he told them. “Not long. How do you feel?”

“Uh, fine,” they’d answer.

“Good, okay, now switch roles.”

As the day went on, he led them through a variety of tasks to stretch their sight both in terms of distance and in focusing at minuscule details of leaves or the tracks of tiny rodents. He had them identify each of the different scents they were picking up, a task many found challenging until they got the hang of isolating scents already identified in order to find new ones. By late morning, every one of them had zoned at least once, and they’d learned it didn’t have to be a frightening experience. By observing others who were zoned, they could see that they didn’t do anything embarrassing, like drool or fall on their faces. They just froze and were momentarily unresponsive. And they were vastly reassured that they could be brought out of the zones relatively quickly when someone knew how to do it.

In a clearing by a rippling creek, he called a break for lunch. As they munched on sandwiches and fruit, he asked them to each describe what it had felt like to zone. Every one of them related an experience of sublime fascination whether it was in getting lost in the delicate warbling of a bird, or the intricate patterns of a leaf or stone.

“Could you tell when you were losing touch with your other senses?” he asked.

Silence fell as they considered that, and several nodded. “Vaguely,” Marcus replied. “But it was like it didn’t matter.”

“Exactly,” Blair said. “Sentinels on a mission can be exceptionally task-oriented, so when you have a task that requires the use of one sense exclusively, the danger of getting lost in that sense escalates. But you can see that zoning, in and of itself, isn’t a bad thing. In safe circumstances, it can even be fun. However, when you’re in hostile situations, zoning can leave you exceptionally vulnerable because you’re completely unaware of your surroundings. The enemy could walk right up to you and you wouldn’t know it. This is why it’s so important to work with a partner or guide – that person watches your back while you’re doing your scouting or surveillance thing.”

“Isn’t there any way to help ourselves to keep from zoning?” Tony asked. “I mean, what if the guide is hurt, or you get separated?”

“You can lessen the possibility of zoning by using at least two senses at one time – for instance, when listening or looking, touch your guide or a tree or whatever else is handy and lock onto that sense of touch so that it grounds you,” Blair explained. “And you can also employ two senses at once, such as piggy-backing sight onto sound or vice versa – we’ll practice both this afternoon.”

“Way cool,” someone murmured excitedly, and the others chuckled in agreement.

The next hours passed quickly. Blair was pleased by how fast his students were picking up the concepts and they were a much more confident and exuberant group than had arrived the day before. Pensively, he thought about how long it had taken him to help Jim, to come up with all the ideas and practices that now seemed so self-evident. Man, Jim sure had been patient with him and had put up with a ton of trial and error. As he listened to the others talking cheerfully about what they’d accomplished that day, he wondered how Jim was doing, and who was playing the part of his guide now. The ache in his heart flared and he found it hard to draw in enough air.

“You okay, Blair?” Marcus asked with a concerned frown, intruding into his thoughts.

Startled, Blair looked up and around – and realized that silence had fallen and a good number were looking at him anxiously. “I’m fine,” he said. But the reminder that sentinels could sense the subtle indicators of heart rate and respirations filled him with such poignant memories of Jim doing exactly the same thing so often, so very often, and with the same shadows of worry that he saw in their eyes. He had to avert his face and turn away from their scrutiny to hide the glaze of moisture in his eyes. Even as he did so, though, he knew the subterfuge was in vain. Hell, they could all smell the salinity of the unshed tears.

 _All but one,_ he thought, distracting himself from his grief by focusing his mind on the ringer in the group. He was sure Maybourne had sent the guy in to keep tabs on him and on what the sentinels could do. So far, the spy was faking it well and Blair didn’t think the others had caught on, but he’d picked up the discrepancies in the testing results. Blair was trying to decide whether or not to blow the whistle on the subterfuge and he wondered if he could order the guy to leave – or whether it was just one more indignity he’d have to accept. On balance, the whole thing pissed him off, not just from his own perspective but also because it was a violation of the trust of the other members of the group. This was supposed to be a safe place for them to learn and he’d promised them he’d not be putting any notes on their files – but he couldn’t guarantee what the observer might do.

 _Fuck it_ , he thought. _It’s completely unacceptable and I’m not going to put up with it._ Even more importantly, he didn’t want Maybourne having too much information about sentinel vulnerabilities. Their propensity to zone was already known from their medical histories, but he’d soon be getting into other stuff, like how they could be overcome by too much sensory input too fast, like sudden blinding light or crashing sounds – that Maybourne didn’t know and, with luck, maybe he never would. It would give him too much potential power over these people and it was Blair’s job to protect them as best he could.

When they got back to the lodge and the students were headed toward their cabins, he called, “Ansel, I need to talk to you. Would you come to my office?”

“Sure, Coach,” Ansel replied easily, using one of the various nicknames the group had accorded him.

When they reached the office, Blair waved the airman to a seat and turned on the white noise generator before settling behind his desk. “I’m just going to say it straight out – you’re not a sentinel and you don’t belong here. I’m assuming Colonel Maybourne assigned you to observation duty, but it’s not appropriate. I want you out of here in the morning. Milt can drive you into town after breakfast. Whether you take a bus, rent a car or call someone to pick you up there is up to you.”

“I’m not sure the Colonel will agree to that,” Ansel replied with a shrug, seemingly unsurprised and maybe even relieved that Blair had seen through his act. “He wants a full report on the training methodology and the capabilities of each sentinel.”

“I’m sure he does, but that’s not my concern,” Blair said firmly. “I’m in charge of this school, and I set the rules here. You’ve seen and heard enough to know your presence is a violation of trust and confidentiality. If you refuse to leave, or Colonel Maybourne insists that you stay, consider it a vacation – you won’t be permitted in class or on any of our field excursions. And I’ll have your cabin searched and any surveillance gear will be confiscated.”

“The Colonel won’t be happy about this,” Ansel warned uneasily. “He doesn’t like to have his orders countermanded.”

“Tough. He’s getting what he wants out of me and this school. That’ll have to be enough.”

Ansel shifted in his seat and his expression was uncertain. “Sir, I’ve heard the others talking and I know they’ve been picking up some bad vibes between you and the Colonel. They’re saying that you were forced to participate in this program. Is that true?”

Blair heaved a long breath and, raking back his hair, he nodded. “Yeah, it’s true. But that won’t stop me from doing my best here, and you can assure him of that,” he admitted bitterly.

“That’s not why I was asking. I can see how much good you’re doing and that you really are an expert on all this stuff. But … I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know he’d pressured you. If I can do anything to help –”

“No,” Blair interjected with a quick shaft of anxiety. “I appreciate the concern but … but Maybourne … look, I can’t really discuss it, but trying to help me could be dangerous for you and for other people I care about. So, just leave it alone.” Standing, Blair held out his hand and Ansel stood to shake it. “I hope Maybourne doesn’t give you too rough a time for being sent back. If he wants to yell at someone, tell him to call me, okay?”

“Thank you, sir,” Ansel replied and then stood back to salute smartly before he left the office.

Blair was bemused by the salute, but didn’t think anything more of it. He was just glad the airman had taken his dismissal so well and hadn’t given him a hard time. He could only hope that Maybourne would take the news equally well. He supposed he should call the Colonel to tell him personally, but he couldn’t bring himself to initiate contact with the man who invariably left him feeling dirty and trembling with impotent anger.

**

Ansel went straight to Josh’s cabin and knocked on the door.

“Hey, what’s up?” Josh asked, as he waved the subordinate officer inside.

“I wanted to tell you personally that I was assigned here by Maybourne to spy on the program, sir,” Ansel replied.

“What?” Josh exclaimed. “What do you mean, ‘spy’?”

“Maybourne wanted someone on the inside to make sure Mr. Sandburg was doing his job, and to get information on the skills the rest of you will be developing,” Ansel replied unhappily. “It’s not surprising that Blair twigged to the scam – I know I blew the tests. Anyway, I just wanted you to know, and to give you my coordinates. I offered to help Blair, if I could, and he cut me off; it was pretty clear that he’s scared of the colonel and whatever it is that Maybourne holds over him. But … well, even in only two days, I can see that Blair is a decent guy and a fine leader, and whatever is going down here isn’t right. So, I’m going to nose around quietly. I’ve heard you and Marcus and some of the others talking. If I can be of any help to you in trying to fix whatever is wrong, let me know.”

“Ansel, since you report directly to Maybourne, you could be letting yourself in for charges of insubordination and behaviour unbecoming an officer. You could be court-martialed or at the very least given a dishonorable discharge,” Josh warned. “Maybe it’s best if you follow Blair’s advice and stay out of it.”

Ansel’s lip curled with evident aversion as he replied, “Maybourne is a real piece of work, sir. He’s amoral – and to be honest, it’s pretty disgusting to have to report to him. Trust me, if I can help a decent man out of an evidently bad situation, I’ll take my chances with the possible repercussions.” He hesitated and then added, “Hell, I’ll be insubordinate anyway, once I get back and fail to give him all the details he wants about the rest of you.” He shrugged. “I just think it’s dangerous to give the man any more power than he already has over this program and its participants.”

Josh hesitated a moment more, then nodded. “Okay.” He went to the desk to get a pen and paper. “Give me your numbers and I’ll be in touch. And if you learn anything, let me know.”

Later, after dinner, Josh told Marcus about Ansel’s offer to be a mole for them.

“Would sure help if he could find out what the leverage is,” Marcus agreed. He rubbed his chin and then mused, “It’s weird, isn’t it, how quickly we’ve aligned with Blair, even to the point of being willing to disobey orders or spy on a senior officer – I’ve never felt so conflicted about my assignments before or so ready to take on the hierarchy. I can’t really explain it but I have this … well, need, I guess, to protect him. To keep him safe.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Josh agreed thoughtfully. “And that feeling, that need, just seems to get stronger the more I’m around him.” He shook his head. “I don’t put a lot of stock in all that mystical stuff. I’m not as open to it as you are. But maybe it’s part of this sentinel/guide thing. We need him. Need him safe, so he’s there to help us when we’re vulnerable. And we’re not used to feeling vulnerable, not like these senses have made us. So that makes him of primary importance in our world.”

“Makes sense,” Marcus allowed. “Besides all that, I just really like the guy. He’s a good man and I hate the fact that, somehow or other, Maybourne is putting the screws to him.” He gave a small shudder. “Makes me feel guilty by association – he’s only here, only at risk, because of us.”

Josh nodded. “Yeah, that had occurred to me, too.”

**

Before going to bed, Blair switched on the white-noise generator and turned off the lights in his apartment. Facing west, he stared up at the stars in the sky; the same stars and the same moon that looked down on Cascade. This communion with the universe had already become a nightly ritual for him, the one time during the day when he felt he was able to share something in common with Jim. Somewhere out there, his lover might be looking up at the sky and thinking of him.

“I miss you, man,” he whispered to the night. “I miss you so much that it’s eating me alive. And I’m so worried about you. Are you getting the help you need? Or, more to the point, accepting it? Have you forgiven me for leaving you? I love you, Jim, and I’m sorry about all this. God, I’m so damned sorry.”

That night, as he had every night, he dreamed of Jim, of making love with him, of cherishing him, laughing with him and holding him close … and the next morning, like every morning since Maybourne had taken him, he woke with tears drying on his face.

The lessons that day were grueling. Blair showed them how easily they could be overwhelmed and incapacitated by sudden sensory spikes caused by unexpected bright lights – blinding them with a flashlight in a dark room where they were straining to make out details of what one another were wearing; blowing their hearing by having Milt set off a fire alarm when they were counting the heartbeats of the person across the conference table; and, again with Milt’s help, nauseating them with soured milk when they were expecting to inhale something ephemeral and sweet. By the end of the day, many of the students were grumbling and giving him unhappy sidelong looks, but he’d worked them through the process of learning how to quickly adjust their dials under conditions of duress – and that had been the point of the day’s lessons.

When he returned to his office to make a few notes, the message light was flashing on his phone. Only one person ever called him, and he had to force himself to punch in the code and listen. Maybourne wasn’t happy about Ansel being sent back, but he said he’d let ‘the infraction’ go … and then the colonel took the opportunity to give Blair another update on his mother, who was apparently still at her home in Long Beach.

Blair slammed the receiver down and, sitting with his face in his hands, grappled with the nausea twisting in his gut.

 

**

The end of the most wretched week Jim had spent in his life came and went with no further word from Jack Kelso. The nights were the worst, restless and sleepless. He thought about other bad times in his life, especially the sabotaged mission to Peru. That had been a nightmare, too, but of a different sort. He and his team had been on a mission they had known would hold life-threatening danger. Losing them all in such a violent way had been hard, but they’d signed up knowing the risks – or, at least, they’d thought they’d known them. Yeah, it had been bad, but he’d had his mission to fall back on, a purpose and, with the help of the Chopec he’d done his job. Sure, it had been tough, but he’d met Incacha and had, in some ways, found a kind of peace in working with the tribe.

This was different. There was no mission. There was only criminal coercion and threats. He had no power here and no role to play in resolving the problem. The waiting ate at him. If they’d taken him rather than Blair, he’d be able to handle it better. But Blair, in his mind, was a non-combatant, a civilian who had been terrorized into leaving everything of his life behind – by his own country’s military, the military that was supposed to protect him, stand between him and tyranny. Every which way he looked at it, whether as a cop, a sentinel, or a lover, Jim felt it was his responsibility to make things right, to find Blair and bring him home. But he was helpless and the whole situation left him feeling emasculated. The truth was, he felt like a victim and he hated it. There was no outlet for his anger, no way to diffuse his frustration. He just had to live with it. It took the kind of patience, and the sort of acceptance of circumstance, that he’d never had. Wearily, he wondered if this was how all victims felt … and he thought he’d have a whole lot more empathy with them than he’d ever had before.

Trudging upstairs, he threw himself on the bed. God … he was tired. The frustration, the helplessness was wearing him down and he was losing his grip on his senses. They kept spiking and going fuzzy. He could wrestle them back into line, but the more weary and stressed he became, the worse they got. Smells were driving him nuts and he could scarcely make himself eat anything more than plain toast. His skin was persistently itchy and the headache just hammered in his skull. Exhausted, he struggled with his dials, a nightly ritual now to obtain enough relief to collapse into sleep, however restless or broken it usually turned out to be.

When he had his senses calibrated, he stared up through the skylight at the stars … and wondered where Blair was. A siren shrieked in the night and wailed along the street, throwing his senses into immediate disarray. Groaning, his hands pressed over his ears, he curled in a tight ball, cursing and wishing with wretched desperation that Blair was there with him, laying a steadying hand on his arm and helping him make sense of his world.

Early on Saturday morning, restless and pacing, unable to settle to anything, Jim was startled by the phone, and hurried to answer it, hoping it was Jack. But, instead, it was his father calling to invite him to accompany him to the family cabin in the mountains, to do a little fishing.

 _“Steven’s out of town,”_ William told him. _“Would just be the two of us. I thought, well, I thought you might need a change of scenery.”_

He almost declined, but then he looked around the empty apartment and accepted purely to get out of the loft and away from the hated silence.

An hour later, Jim was waiting out front when William parked in front of Colette’s and got out to open the back door on his glossy, black SUV.

“I’m glad you agreed to come along,” William said with a heartiness that sounded brittle, as Jim loaded his gear into the back.

“I appreciate the offer,” he replied, subdued, feeling like hell.

William studied him briefly, and then waved him into the vehicle. They rode in silence through the city and out onto the state highway toward Mount Baker, but it wasn’t the hard, angry wordlessness that had characterized their relationship for too much of their past. Surprisingly, Jim found his father’s presence soothing and he could feel the care and concern radiating from the man. Feeling his muscles gradually relax, he let himself drift with a distant appreciation of the lush forest around them and the fresh green scents.

An hour and a half hour later, they pulled up next to the low-slung country cottage on the edge of the pristine lake Jim remembered so well from his childhood. Mount Baker rose above them, massive and majestic, and the peacefulness of the site was tangible. He helped his father unload their supplies, fishing gear and bags. After a simple lunch of sandwiches and beer, the time filled only with casual conversation about the cottage, the weather and the food, they loaded up and went down to the shore. Only after they’d cast out their lines did Jim say softly, “I miss him, Dad. It hurts pretty bad.”

“I know, son,” William responded, his tone gentle. “The circumstances are vastly different, but I felt much the same way when your mother left us. Like there was this big, empty hole inside that would never be filled. Despite our problems, I loved her and I didn’t want her to go.” Glancing at Jim and then away, as if sensitive to his son’s need for privacy even in this, the need to not be seen to grieve too much or appear weak, he went on, “It’s gotta be worse for you, and I’m sorry, son. So very sorry. Blair was a very special man and I never gave him enough credit for how good he was to you and for you. I didn’t realize how much he loved you, how dedicated he was to you, until I saw that press conference. I wish … I wish I’d gotten to know him better, much better.”

Jim nodded tightly, touched by his father’s allusion to his mother – his Dad’s way of acknowledging that he understood everything that Blair was to him and indicating his acceptance of that. And he was glad to know his father regretted never knowing Blair better. With luck, he’d have a chance to rectify that, hopefully sooner rather than later.

“It takes time, Jimmy,” his father said then, old pain resonating in his voice. “And the ache of the loss never really goes away entirely. Sometimes it comes back with a ferocity that’s shocking. But … the fresh anguish fades. You learn to go on, mostly because there’s no other choice.” He hesitated and then added uncertainly, “I love you, Jimmy. I’ll do anything I can to help you through this. Anything, son.”

The warmth of the compassion in his father’s voice reached down to the core of Jim’s soul. His hands began to tremble and his eyes glazed with tears. “You don’t know …” he rasped before his throat closed on a sob, and then William was there, gently taking the rod from his hands and enfolding him in a tight embrace.

The reserve Jim had held onto so tightly in front of everyone, even Simon, cracked. He wept as he clung to his father and, for the first time, he allowed himself to be held and comforted, just as if he was still a little boy.

“It’s okay, son,” William murmured as he stroked Jim’s back. “Let it out, just let it all out.”

Gradually, the storm passed and he extricated himself from his father’s arms. Sniffing, he rubbed the tears from his face, and they moved to sit on some rocks a few feet away. William kept an arm around his shoulders as Jim took deep, shuddering breaths. They sat there for a long time, gazing out over the still surface of the lake that reflected the snowcapped peak above them.

Jim rubbed his mouth, unconsciously still trying to hold back words that came hard, especially to the man he’d been estranged from for most of his adult life. But things had changed between him and his Dad, and he found that their new closeness was important to him. His unfamiliar need to talk still surprised him. He couldn’t seem to find the cloak of seeming cold remoteness that had served him so well in coping with staggering loss in the past. He didn’t know if it was that Blair had changed him so profoundly that he was no longer capable of such isolation, or if it was simply that he loved Blair so much that he needed to talk about him, as if that could make him seem closer, not so far away. And he wanted to talk about the fact that Blair was still alive, about this second sacrifice Blair had made to protect him. Oddly, he felt he could trust his father with the truth, as if something profound had mended between them and they were family again, real family. His gaze wandered over the trees that garbed the mountain’s shoulders, and lifted to the regal peak of the dormant volcano as he debated sharing the truth. How great was the risk? His senses reached out but he could detect no one near them, only birds, the rustle of small creatures, and a bear foraging about a half mile away.

Taking a breath, he said, “Blair’s not dead, Pop. He’s alive, somewhere. It was all a … a ruse to make us think he was dead. Someone with the military or the government grabbed him, and is forcing him to train other potential sentinels.”

“What?” William gasped, his expression horrified. “How do you know?”

“I found a note Blair left for me, an encrypted file on his computer, the evening of the memorial service.” Jim shivered from cold that had nothing to do with the slight breeze that wafted past them. “Whoever did this threatened to kill me and his mother if he didn’t agree to do what they want. He did it again, Pop. He gave up everything to protect me all over again. Just when … when things might have worked out for us.” Turning to his father, he revealed, “They threatened him before I even got out of the hospital, nearly two months ago. And he hid it from me, carried it all alone, to protect me. So I wouldn’t put myself in danger to save him from this. I thought … I thought he was dead, until I found the note.”

Jim’s throat tightened and, filled with the shame of his helplessness and the fact that Blair hadn’t trusted him enough to confide in him, he turned his face away and bowed his head. “I don’t know where he is. I don’t know if he’s safe or hurt. And I have to be careful to not let on I know he’s alive or … or maybe his and Naomi’s lives could be at risk.”

“And yours, too,” William said, his voice low and solemn.

“Yeah, and mine, too.”

“But you are trying to find him, right? Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I’ve got someone looking, yeah. Jack Kelso – the guy who wrote the exposé on the CIA a few years ago. He’s a professor at Rainier and still has a lot of contacts in the world of covert ops. But it’s been days and he hasn’t found anything yet. Or at least nothing conclusive enough to pass along to me. He and Simon, and now you, are the only people who know the truth. It’s tough, Dad, to lie to people who love Blair, like our friends and his mother, to pretend he’s dead. I can’t believe how hard that’s turning out to be.”

“Ah, Jimmy,” William sighed as he tightened his grip around Jim’s shoulders. “Let me just say that I’m heartily delighted to know Blair’s not dead after all – and I know we’ll get him back, son. The others will understand once they know the facts, don’t worry about that. Again, if I can help, let me know.”

“When we do track him down, depending on where he is, I may need air transport that can’t be tracked through commercial airlines.”

“You’ve got it – just tell me when and where. I’ve still got my pilot’s license and,” he added with a wry conspiratorial grin, “I own the plane.”

Jim laughed and shook his head. Knowing he had transport that could take him wherever as soon as he knew where to go made him feel as if getting to Blair was that much closer to happening. “Thanks, Pop.”

“No thanks needed, son. Now, those fish are still out there – and you can tell me Blair stories while we wait for them to jump on our hooks.”

**

Blair decided they needed a break – and it _was_ the weekend, after all – so he suggested a morning hike in the forest to where the creek fed into the river. There he showed them how rushing water could work like a white-noise generator, dampening their sense of hearing. They took the point of the lesson, understanding that they might encounter the effect any number of times when on missions. The sailors, in particular, peppered him with questions about how they could overcome the effects, and he spent time teaching them how to isolate the sound of the water in order to hear past it.

After lunch, he put them to work updating their journals in the conference room, advising them to reflect on the week, what they’d learned, the questions they had and what problems were giving them the most trouble. Once they’d finished that, he asked them to then work in small groups, to share what they’d learned, what they’d found that worked, so that they could learn from and build on one another’s experience of managing their senses. When they gave him puzzled looks, he said, “Remember, I don’t have enhanced senses. I don’t actually know what it feels like to focus them or to monitor the dials in your head. I don’t know what personal tricks might work best in helping you to get a grip on all this. But, each of you, you do know what it feels like. You do know what works and what doesn’t, at least for what we’ve covered so far. This past week, we’ve been going over a ton of stuff really fast. Some of you will have picked up on some lessons more than others. By pooling your experiences, your learning, you’ll help one another consolidate what we’ve covered so far. If you need me, just come and get me, okay?”

While they worked in the conference room, and then later in small groups around the property, he spent the time in his office, making notes on what they’d covered, and then he finished off the handbook he’d been writing in the evenings for them and their eventual guides. Frowning to himself, he wondered how the people Maybourne would send late the next week would handle the guide duties. And he wondered how the sentinels would react to the newcomers.

While the pages of instructions, reminders and tips about medication effects, laundry and household cleaners, grooming products and fabrics printed out, he thought about the way the sentinels treated him. Increasingly over the week, they had begun to touch him much as Jim did – was it to ground themselves or a kind of unconscious affiliation? And ever since Ansel had told him that they were talking about him and Maybourne, he’d wondered about their instincts toward protecting him. So far, there had been no turf issues between them but he noticed that they maintained what was probably an unconscious hyperawareness of their environment. Whenever a vehicle slowed or turned into the drive, usually tourists hoping to find a room for the night and occasionally a delivery truck with supplies for the kitchen, invariably one or more would get between him and the strangers, while others moved into position around him, like a personal phalanx of pretty intimidating bodyguards.

He was also aware of his growing sense of protectiveness toward them. The drive to keep them safe wasn’t as strong as what he’d always felt with Jim, but it was there. Did guides have a predisposition toward safeguarding sentinels as much as sentinels had a drive to take care of their tribes? Could anyone, with the right training, be a guide? Blowing out a breath, he figured he would soon find out.

That evening, he and Milt built a bonfire and held an outdoor cookout. After they’d eaten, Blair told them stories about watchmen, guardians, and sentinels, sharing with them the mythology that went back to the dawn of time. They listened, fascinated by the legends and a bit awed to think their genetic advantage had come to them down through the ages, flowing through the generations.

That night, Maybourne called him again, to tell him Jim had gone off fishing with his father for the weekend. _“Back to work, out for a beer with his boss last night, spending time with his family – even if he looks like he’s still dragging his ass, seems he’s getting on with life,”_ the Colonel goaded, his oily tone carrying an edge of anger. _“We let him slip the leash for the weekend – didn’t want to risk getting too close out in the backwoods, where he might pick up on the surveillance. Oh, and your mother went out for dinner tonight with a group of friends. She’s still, uh, subdued, I guess you’d say, but … well, life goes on, doesn’t it, kid?”_

Pressing his eyes closed, shaking with both fury and fear that Maybourne was continuing to keep Jim and Naomi under such a close watch, Blair’s hand tightened on the phone until his knuckles were white. He had to bite his lip to keep from shouting obscenities at the bastard. The colonel had gotten what he wanted. He’d won, dammit! What the hell was Maybourne trying to prove with these fucking reminders that he held Jim’s and Naomi’s lives in the palm of his hand? That they were under constant scrutiny and that they had no privacy, that he could reach out and touch them anytime he wanted to? Or, or did Maybourne just get off on this dance of dominance and intimidation, this abusive, sadistic cruelty. God, like he needed to know that the people he loved best were doing just fine, thank you. Getting on with their lives … without him. That he was fast becoming nothing more than a memory.

 _“You still there, Blair?”_

“Yeah, I’m here.”

 _“I went easy on you yesterday, kid. You know damned well you should have checked with me before sending Adams back. Not good for discipline to have my orders countermanded that way,”_ Maybourne told him, revealing his cold anger at being thwarted. _“You need to show a whole lot better appreciation of who’s in charge, here, sport.”_

“Go to hell, Maybourne,” Blair seethed, and slammed down the phone.

Crossing his arms, his hands fisted, he bowed forward, curling in on himself in a desperate effort to lock down muscles that screamed with the need to lash out in livid anger. Breathing through his nose, he swallowed hard to quell the queasy revolt of his stomach. The manipulative bastard! Calling just to dig the knife a little deeper, twist it a little harder – gut him with the knowledge he didn’t matter anymore in their lives – just to make the point that he didn’t appreciate not getting his own way, that he held all the power.

Well, fuck him. All the stupid jerk had done was pass along basically _good_ news, right? Because it was good to know, wasn’t it, that Jim was seeking solace with friends and family? That his mother wasn’t locking herself away in bereaved sorrow. So what if they were being watched? They were safe. Nobody was going to hurt them. They were safe so long as he played Maybourne’s game.

But, God, it hurt. It hurt to be so scared for them.

He pressed a fist to his mouth.

Hurt to be so … so goddamned _alone_ and, and … so wretchedly, achingly, _lonely_.

**

Late that evening as William and Jim enjoyed coffee and brandy in front of the fire, his father came right out and asked him when he and Blair had become a couple. Jim nearly choked on his coffee, but wasn’t about to lie. “After I got out of the hospital, not quite two months ago,” he answered levelly, trying his best to not come across as either belligerent or defensive.

William just nodded slowly, taking it in. “Do you think this is because of the sentinel thing?” he asked then and, flushing uncomfortably, clarified, “I mean, I never thought you were interested in other boys or men. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, just that I didn’t ….” His voice drifted off in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.”

“No, that’s okay,” Jim said with a sigh. “I don’t know, maybe it has something to do with the sentinel/guide thing, but … but I think it has more to do with the kind of man Blair is. I’ve never known anyone like him before. Never known anyone who would … would sacrifice so much for me, who would risk his life in a heartbeat to save mine. And it’s more than that, Pop.” Frowning, trying to find the right words, Jim stared at the dancing flames. “He … he makes me feel good, safe. Dumb thing to say, I guess, but I don’t have to pretend to be anybody I’m not around him. And he, he’s, well, beautiful. Inside and out. He makes my world a better place to be – makes me want to be a better man.” Shrugging helplessly, he hazarded a look at his father, and found the man simply listening, not regarding him with contempt or distaste. Swallowing, he said hoarsely, “I love him, Pop. Love him more than anything, more than I thought I was capable of loving. All I want is to live my life with him, and … and, even though he’s a pretty capable guy and has saved my life at least as often as I’ve saved his, I feel this need inside to keep him safe.” His voice cracked and he turned away in embarrassment. “I’ve done a rotten job of that, haven’t I? Blair would be a lot better off if we’d never met.”

“Does he love you as much you love him?” William asked quietly.

Jim’s throat tightened and he nodded as he struggled to regain his voice. “More. Blair has a greater capacity to love than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“Then I doubt very much that he’d agree he’d be better off if you’d never met,” his father chided gently. “Love like that is precious, son. Something most people aren’t ever lucky enough to know. You hold onto it, and when we get Blair back, do whatever you need to do to hold onto him, too.”

Surprised, wondering if he was hearing what he thought, Jim looked at his father, and a small frown puckered his brow. “What are you saying?” he asked, needing it to be spelled out.

“Just what I said,” William returned before he took a sip of brandy and then set the balloon glass down on the table beside him. Leaning forward, he gripped Jim’s knee. “Jimmy, I told you nearly a year ago that I was wrong to tell you to deny what you are. I meant it. Oh, I know, I lost it there for a while, when the reporters were swarming all over the place. It was a shock. And I didn’t know what you wanted, whether you wanted me to confirm or deny the excerpts that had been leaked. But when I saw what Blair did to protect you, to salvage your privacy, I felt … guilty. When you were only just a boy, I made you afraid of what you are, made you think you had to hide that. I was wrong. And I realized then that the mistake I made so long ago hadn’t only hurt you but also caused another good man a lot of pain – and cost him his whole career.”

Leaning back, he sighed. “Whether you decide to tell the world you’re a sentinel is between you and Blair. And maybe there are good reasons now, given the work you do, to remain silent about it. If so, fine. But don’t hesitate to tell the truth, to claim your birthright and be proud of it, just because of my stupidity and fear years ago. When I see how much you’re hurting, and when I think of what keeping it all secret has cost Blair – there are no words to say how sorry I am, son. No words.”

Hearing his father assume guilt and responsibility for all that had happened was startling. And it helped Jim to put things into perspective more than anything else had. He thought again about what Simon had said a few days before. “Don’t take more than your share,” he said with gentle absolution, consciously echoing his friend’s words. Looking up at his father, Jim said, “Trying to keep the secret is part of why Blair agreed to disappear, but it’s not all of it. And, frankly, I think all that’s a bit of a red herring anyway. Last week, Simon said that he thought it sounded like they just wanted someone who could train sentinels. Whether my skills were known or secret wasn’t the issue. They wanted what Blair can do for them and they would have taken him regardless.”

“Maybe,” William allowed. “But the secret sure cost him a lot even before this latest disaster struck.”

“Yeah,” Jim sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re right about that. And you’re right that it’s still an issue that I have to deal with when I get him back.” Leaning back on the sofa, he said, “My inclination is to just admit the truth and let the chips fall where they might.” Ruefully, he smiled sadly. “It’s Blair who is so determined to keep it all a secret now, to protect me.”

“You know, I’m really looking forward to getting to know Blair a whole lot better,” William said then with a wide, confident smile. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that I’ll have the chance to do so.”

His father’s utter certainty that he’d get Blair back was exactly the kind of soothing reassurance Jim needed, and he felt more of his frustration and anxiety ease away. And his father’s evident acceptance of their relationship drew him closer to William than he’d ever felt before, and made him love the man more than he ever had in his life.

**

“Just remember, Jimmy, any time – day or night. You need me, you call,” William directed as he grasped Jim’s shoulder firmly, just before Jim opened the passenger door.

“I’ll remember, Pop,” Jim affirmed with a warm smile of gratitude. “And thanks for the weekend. It was great to spend the time with you.”

“Great for me, too, son,” William replied, sincerity ringing in his voice and shining from his eyes.

Jim grabbed his gear out of the back and closed the door. He tapped on the roof and waved as his father pulled away from the curb. After watching until the SUV had turned the corner and disappeared, he ambled into the building, reflecting that he felt a whole lot better than he had when he’d left the day before. Climbing the two flights of steps, he thought back over the weekend. William had been the father he’d always craved but had never known – supportive, understanding, strong and, most surprisingly of all, not in the least judgmental. Bemused, he wondered how this could be the same man he’d despised for so much of his life.

Entering the apartment, he set his bag and fishing gear down by the door and got himself a beer. Moving to the balcony windows, he stared out over the city to the water that reflected the brilliant colors of the sunset sky. Blair would have loved the bright warmth of day and the clear beauty of the evening.

Blair.

 _Where are you, Chief?_ he wondered with a deep sigh. _Where the hell are you?_

 

**

Sunday, at breakfast, Blair told his class that he was giving them the morning off to do whatever they wanted or needed to do – go for a walk into Cranston, the small town a mile and a half to the east, do their laundry, go to services in the local churches, write letters home or anything else that took their fancy. Though time was tight, he knew a bit of relaxation would leave them sharper, more ready to keep learning. They needed a break from the constant pressure – and, God, so did he. He asked them to gather in the conference room after lunch, and said they’d review the questions they still had after working in small groups the day before.

Craving privacy, he went for a solitary walk in the woods. Solitary? Privacy? Yeah, right. With a bemused half-smile, he wondered how many sentinels were tracking him with their senses … probably all of them. Good thing he’d gotten used to having no privacy a long time ago.

Loneliness and longing, a deep yearning clutched at his heart, plunging him straight back into the despair he was fighting so hard to hold at bay. With a low moan, he wondered how was it possible to miss someone so much that the lack of their presence was like being starved for air? So that, without them, it hurt just to breathe. Was it always going to be like this? Would this gnawing anguish _ever_ get any better?

Was Jim suffering like this, too? Had Jim worked out the message in the love letters yet? Had he found the hidden file? Didn’t sound like it. Sounded more like he was just doing his best to go on with his life. At least Jim wasn’t alone. Simon and the others would be doing what they could to … to help, to keep him from isolating himself. Sighing, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, Blair kicked at loose stones as he wandered through the dim forest. And it sounded like Jim was making an effort again to get along better with his father. Would be great if they could be closer, be a real family. Much as Jim might deny it, he needed that.

Blair inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly as he looked up through the canopy of branches to the distant sky. How long would it take for Jim to find him? Would Jim find him? Should he have just come right out and left more specific information? He shook his head. No, the risks would have been too great. Maybourne had to relax, had to believe that he’d kept his part of the bargain and no one back there knew the truth. Jim would work it out, but that would take time, even if he got help from Jack Kelso, which Blair bet that he would.

Though he’d given Jim the out in the message he’d left, he knew deep down that Jim would move mountains, if need be, to find him.

He did _know_ that, didn’t he? Jim … Jim _would_ find him.

God, he felt so torn, so ravaged by conflicting emotions. He _wanted_ to be found. But what good would it do? How would it make anything better? For either him or Jim?

Dropping down on an old downed tree that was already being reclaimed by the moss and new growth, he clasped his hands tightly and bowed his head. God, he wanted to go home, wanted his life back. But it wasn’t safe. And he knew Jim might suggest that if staying in Cascade wouldn’t work, that they just grab Naomi and go on the run. But Blair couldn’t allow Jim to do that – give up everything. It wouldn’t be right. Jim’s place was in Cascade. That was his tribe and he needed to be there. Needed to do what he did to protect the people of his city. So, where did that leave them?

Nowhere, that’s where.

Short of murdering Brackett before he could kill them, and maybe Maybourne, too, to make sure he didn’t just dredge up another assassin to go after them, there weren’t many options. Oh, Jim would probably rage and storm about going public to nullify the threat, but Blair wasn’t prepared to go along with that. Was he being too single-minded? Didn’t they deserve a chance at happiness? But at what cost? They weren’t murderers, so the threat Brackett and Maybourne represented would continue to hang over them. And he just could not allow Jim to put his life on the line. Just couldn’t.

No matter how much being separated tore him – them – apart.

God, Jim was going to end up hating him for being so stubborn. Would he understand? Could he accept that some fights were just too big for him to win? Jim wasn’t a man to give up easily.

“Well, he won’t be able to say I didn’t warn him,” Blair muttered to himself. “I told him that even if he found me, I wouldn’t be able to go with him. Even if I would just about sell my soul to be with him, I can’t. I just can’t take the risk, and I can’t let him take it, either. Damn it. Damn Maybourne. Damn it all to hell.”

Too late, he realized he’d spoken aloud, however softly, and closed his eyes in aggravation. He grimaced and then said into the air, “And if any of you heard that, just forget it. This is not your problem, and it sure isn’t your fault. You’re not responsible for any of it. Let it go. Just let it go.”

He snorted to himself then. Maybe they’d pay more attention to his current mantra than he seemed able to do.

**

Josh, Marcus, Tony and Carrie tossed their cards onto the table in the lodge’s games room.

“Like that’s going to happen,” Marcus growled angrily and rubbed at his temple. Stretching out his hearing so far had given him a whopper of a headache.

“Just once, I wish when he talks to himself, he’d talk about what it is that Maybourne is holding over him,” Carrie grumbled irritably.

“Who’s this ‘Jim’?” Tony asked.

“Gotta be his sentinel,” Josh replied. “Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade PD – right, Marcus? That’s the guy Blair named in the press conference, isn’t it? The one his paper was about?”

“Yeah,” Marcus confirmed. “I’m seriously beginning to think we should call the guy, put our heads together, and try to figure out how to make this right. Poor bastard must be going crazy, not knowing where his guide is – maybe not even knowing he’s still alive.”

Josh shook his head. “Not yet. Whatever Maybourne has threatened, it’s got Blair scared. His heart rate shoots up and he smells of fear whenever he thinks about it. You all know that. We can’t do anything that might make things worse, not until we have a better idea of what’s going on.”

The others nodded glumly.

“What if we never find out? I mean, before we’re done here and reassigned?” Tony demanded.

Josh and Marcus exchanged glances. “We’ve got someone working on it. If we still don’t have any better intel before we ‘graduate’, well, then maybe we do call Ellison and take it from there,” Josh said. “I’m not just going to move on and leave him here without at least trying to work things out.”

“None of us are going to ‘just leave him here’,” Carrie stated firmly and then gave a gamin grin. “What kind of sentinels would we be if we left the guide in danger?”

The others laughed and nodded in agreement. Though Blair had told them often enough about how the guide looked out for the sentinel, watched his or her back, he’d never once said anything about the sentinel watching out for the guide. But they didn’t need to be told. They knew, deep in their bones, they knew that the sentinel protected the guide first, so that together they could protect the tribe.

Resigned to playing the waiting game, Marcus gathered up the cards, shuffled the deck and dealt another hand.

**

Two days later, Ansel was in the breakroom when he heard two other agents speculating about what had Maybourne smiling all the damned time, just like a cat that had lapped up all the cream.

“He’s up to something,” Lt. Col Bill Waters, said. “I heard it has something to do with rehabilitating a bunch of burned out vets from the frontlines. He sure spent enough time making me track down anyone who was imagining they were seeing or hearing things that aren’t there.”

“Oh, yeah?” the one who had started the conversation replied, sounding curious. “What would he want with them?”

Ansel poured himself a coffee. He didn’t know the second guy who was garbed in civvies.

“Haven’t a clue,” Bill admitted. “Don’t know where he sent them, either. Just know that I had to arrange transport for them from the local infirmary, after they’d all been transferred in. And now I’m supposed to bring in nearly twenty medics by the end of the week.”

“They’re all up at a lodge near Cranston that the Colonel rented,” Ansel supplied, affecting desultory interest. “Some kind of treatment centre that he’s got a civilian running. Probably trying out desensitization or something – seeing if that guy can help them combat PTSD.”

“That so?” the civilian replied. With a shrug, he turned toward the door, calling over his shoulder, “Be a good thing if someone came up with something to alleviate traumatic stress.”

“Who was that?” Ansel asked Bill.

“Old friend in the CIA, Mike Donnelly. Said he had a meeting here this morning.” Bill took a sip of coffee and winced at its caustic strength. “A treatment centre, huh?” he muttered to himself as he left the breakroom. “Weird. Wonder what Maybourne wants with that – it’s not the sort of thing he usually gives a damn about. Probably a waste of time and taxpayers’ money.” He paused and turned back. “Oh, by the way, tell the boss that I checked like he asked, and Brackett is still cooling his heels in Leavenworth. Like Lee would be anywhere else. He’s locked down so deep he’ll never see the light of day. Guess he knows it, too. From what I hear, all the fight has gone out of him. For the past two weeks, he’s done nothing but lay on his bunk and stare at the wall.” Bill laughed and, with a half-wave, he headed off to his desk.

Ansel frowned as he spooned sugar into his coffee cup, and stirred in the hefty allotment of cream that was all that made the stuff palatable. He’d heard of Lee Brackett but only in passing – something about him being a rogue agent that went bad. Why was Maybourne keeping tabs on him?

He returned to his desk and called up the protected file on his computer. When he saw that Brackett had been apprehended in Cascade nearly four years before by a Detective Jim Ellison, he frowned. Cascade was an interesting coincidence. Next, Ansel did a search on the detective and, sitting back, read with interest the two-month-old news clips about him supposedly being a sentinel, only to have that speculation trashed when a doctoral student named Blair Sandburg admitted his paper had been fraudulent.

“Bingo,” Ansel murmured as he quickly closed the site and returned to Brackett’s file. Before long, he had a good grasp of the ex-agent’s background, had learned Brackett and Maybourne had worked on a number of the same covert operations, and that Brackett had a variety of skills and uses, including having been a very competent assassin. He closed the file and deleted his two searches from the cache.

At noon, he went out for lunch, found a phone booth and called the lodge. When Milt answered, he left a message for Josh to call him at home that evening.

**

“Jim!” Simon bellowed from his office just after lunch.

When Jim appeared in the doorway, Simon told him to close the door and waved him to a seat. “Jack’s on the line,” he said tersely, with a gesture at the phone. “Go ahead, Jack.”

 _“I think I’ve got something,”_ Kelso told them. _“One of my old colleagues in the CIA just called. Said he found out that a Colonel Maybourne in NID has started up a secret school to help cure military members of post-traumatic stress disorder. He rented a lodge near Cranston, a small town in the Virginia hills, about two hours out of D.C. – and the members he swept up were all complaining of seeing and hearing things that weren’t there.”_

“That’s gotta be it,” Jim growled.

 _“Yeah, I think it’s a good bet,” Jack agreed. “Apparently, there’s a civilian supposedly treating these people there. And I hear that a bunch of medics are being transferred up there later this week.”_

Jim frowned, perplexed, and then snapped his fingers. “Guides.”

 _“That’s what I thought, too.”_

“What do you know about this Maybourne?” Simon rumbled.

 _“Bad news. He’s Air Force but has spent his career in NID. Utterly ruthless. And he has a history of working with Brackett on black ops. Believe me, he’s not the type to give any time to disabled soldiers or care a damn if they are suffering from PTSD.”_

“Anything new on Brackett?” Simon demanded then.

 _“Uh, uh. Still locked up tight. He’s gone on a hunger strike.”_

“Thanks, Jack,” Jim said, grabbing a pen and paper to jot down the key details. “I’ll check out this lead immediately.”

 _“Be careful, Jim,”_ Jack counseled heavily. _“Maybourne makes Brackett look like a cub scout when it comes to ruthlessness. He’s smarter and works within the system, but he takes no prisoners. If he finds out you’re on to him, he won’t hesitate to turn Brackett loose to do his dirty work for him.”_

“I hear you,” Jim replied.

“We’ll keep you posted, Jack. Thank you,” Simon intoned before terminating the connection.

Jim immediately stood to reach across the desk to the phone. He punched in his father’s number and then said, “Dad? We’re going to Virginia. Place called Cranston. I’ll need a car when we land. How soon can we leave? And, Dad? Is there a way to keep this under the radar? I don’t want anyone to be able to find out I’ve left town or where we went.”

 _“I understand. Uh, maybe take a heli-jet down at the harbor to the private airfield, instead of driving to the airport. I’ll file a flight plan under my usual pilot’s name and charge the trip to one of my more obscure corporations. Give me two hours to set things up.”_

“Will do.”

When he severed the connection, Simon asked, “You want company on this little junket?”

Jim shook his head. “No, not this time, anyway. I need to check the place out, make sure he’s there and that this isn’t a false lead.”

Simon’s jaw tightened and he leaned forward. “Jack’s right, you know. You’re playing with fire here. One wrong move and you could be putting Naomi’s life, your own and maybe even Blair’s in danger.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Jim challenged irritably, and then reined in his temper. Simon wasn’t the enemy here. “I know there are risks. But I have to do this. I have to find him and get him out of there.”

“Just don’t take any stupid chances, and keep me posted.”

“I will.”

“Good luck, Jim,” Simon called to his back, as he raced out the door.

Joel poked his head in the door. “Where’s Jim rushin’ off to?” he asked, sounding concerned.

“Just checking out a lead,” Simon returned, his gaze dropping to the files on his desk, wishing he didn’t have to lie to his old friend. And then he could have bitten his tongue for his too-quick response. Joel was partnering with Jim and knew they had nothing hot on the books.

“What case?” Joel asked sounding puzzled as he ambled inside. “And shouldn’t he have someone with him, to back him up? You know, in case ….”

“If the lead pans out, he’ll be okay,” Simon replied as he turned to fill his mug with fresh coffee. “If it doesn’t?” He shrugged. “He won’t need backup.”

Joel’s gaze narrowed as he studied Simon. “There’s somethin’ goin’ on that you and Jim aren’t talking about,” he charged. “Does this have something to do with his senses? Is that why the two of you are holed up together so much? Is there a problem we don’t know about?”

“No, no,” Simon assured him with a sigh, giving up the pretense of acting as if everything was business as usual. “Joel … I hope we’ll be able to clue all of you in soon. But I can’t right now. I’m sorry.”

Joel chewed on his lip, and disappointment shone in his eyes. “Guess I’d hoped we were done with secrets around here, between us, anyway.”

Simon’s lips thinned in frustration. He hated not being able to share the truth as much as Jim did. But this wasn’t his secret to tell. Finally, he rubbed his mouth and sighed. “This isn’t something I can talk about right now. But … but I can tell you this. If things work out, then it will be very good news when we can talk about it.”

Frowning in perplexity, Joel studied the floor. “Jim’s been like a cat on a hot tin roof, all antsy and irritable,” he muttered. “Not that he hasn’t got reason to be out of sorts but ….” His voice died away and he straightened. “There was no body.”

Simon’s gaze cut away and then he cursed himself for his reaction. Looking back at Joel, seeing a smile twitch on the older man’s lips and hope shining in his eyes, Simon knew he’d inadvertently given it away.

“No,” he agreed heavily. “There wasn’t.”

“So, there’s a possibility that –”

“Joel, please,” Simon cut him off sharply. “Don’t go there. Don’t speculate. And, above all, don’t share your suspicions with _anybody_. Lives could be at stake here. You understand?”

Immediately, Joel sobered. “You sure there’s nothing I can do to help?”

Simon sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Yes, yes, there is. If you hear anyone else wondering what’s up or beginning to speculate, stop them any way you can. But aside from that, there’s nothing else. Not right now.” Giving his friend a wan smile, Simon added, “But … thanks, Joel, for offering.”

**

“What have you got?” Josh asked as he watched the street from the phone booth near the town’s post office.

 _“I think the ‘threat’ has something to do with Lee Brackett, former CIA agent and now a prisoner in Leavenworth. He and the Colonel have a lot of history, and Brackett was apprehended by Detective Jim Ellison who –”_

“I know who Ellison is,” Josh interjected. “But what could someone imprisoned in Leavenworth have to do with this?”

 _“Not sure. But the Colonel is keeping close tabs on him – and this afternoon, I found a buried authority for him to take Brackett out for a day – this was just over two months ago. Amongst other things, Brackett was an assassin. No wonder Blair’s scared.”_

“Shit,” Josh cursed and reflected that he’d _thought_ he’d signed up to stand for something better than this – not be party to some banana republic-style coercion. “Thanks. Not sure what we can do about this, but keep an eye on Brackett.”

 _“Will do.”_

**

Jim took a circuitous route to the harbor, and parked two blocks from the heliport. He was as certain as he could be that, if there was a tail, he’d lost them.

His father gave him a thumbs-up when he climbed aboard the Gulfstream and took the copilot’s seat. On the way, William assured him that he’d filed the flight plan under the name of one of his companies, so the threat that they’d be tracked, or their travel detected after the fact, was minimal. Jim nodded. It wasn’t perfect; there was still a trail if anyone looked hard enough – but, with luck, no one would. There was no way to remove all the risks but, if anyone had been tailing him, they’d be looking for him around the harbor, not miles away at a private airstrip.

Five hours later, William landed at a private airfield just outside of Cranston, and a rental car was waiting when they entered the terminal.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Jim said to his father as he took the keys, while his William took care of the paperwork, taking care to use no names and charging the costs of the vehicle to another of his companies.

“Take your time and be careful,” William urged with a pat on his back. “Might take a while to find the place.”

“What place is that?” the attractive Hertz agent asked as she batted her eyelashes at Jim. “Maybe I could help you find it?”

“Uh, maybe,” Jim replied briskly. “Is there a lodge or hotel near town that’s been recently rented out?”

“That would be the old Forest Hills Resort,” she said. “I could drive you over there.”

“No, I just need directions,” he said impatiently.

Evidently getting the message that he wasn’t interested, she coolly drew a simple map for him before sashaying away.

William watched the swaying hips with an air of appreciative amusement. Jim rolled his eyes, slapped his father on the shoulder and got into the sedan.

Twenty-five minutes later, as the evening dusk was beginning to deepen into night, he parked up the road from the lodge. He sat quietly for a few moments, getting his bearings and using his senses to scope out the place. He felt antsy, like there was an itch under his skin he couldn’t get at. And wary – not a gut-level certainty of threat or danger, just … wariness. Taking a breath, he let it out slowly. Had to be reactions to his proximity to other sentinels. Not as strong as his virulent sense of threat had been when Barnes had arrived in Cascade, but it was there. As was an almost subliminal anger that these sentinels had his guide. Swallowing heavily, he reminded himself that the sentinels weren’t the ones who had taken Blair, and were keeping Blair from him. These sentinels weren’t, by definition, enemies.

Pushing aside his unsettling reactions, he focused on the lodge and reached out with his hearing. Most of the voices were raised in friendly teasing, some challenging others to games of cards or darts. He sifted through them, searching … searching …

And then he sat up straighter.

“Great dinner, Milt, thanks.”

“Going for your usual evening constitutional?” a stranger asked.

“Yeah, like to get some fresh air before hitting the sack,” Blair replied.

“Well, don’t trip over any fallen trees in the dark,” the other voice teased, and he heard Blair chuckle lightly. But his partner’s tone was off, as if he was forcing himself to be convivial.

Jim slipped out of the car and loped across the two-lane highway. Darting into the bush that encroached upon the road, he angled toward the back of the lodge. The sound of the familiar heartbeat, and Blair’s scent on the wind, left him feeling shaky with anticipation. Stealthily, wary of the others who might or might not have hearing as good as his own, he paralleled Blair’s course as his lover strode deeper into the forest. For nearly fifteen minutes, they moved away from the lodge before Blair stopped in a clearing and stood looking up at the sky. The sorrow etched on his face nearly took Jim’s breath away. And he could tell that Blair was thinner, his clothing hanging on him loosely, his cheekbones and jaw sharp under the skin.

“I miss you, and I’m so worried about you,” he heard Blair whisper hoarsely into the night. For a moment, he thought Blair knew he was there. And then he realized Blair was talking to the stars. “God, I wish … I wish I knew if you got my message.”

“I got it, Chief,” he replied quietly, and stepped into clearing.

Blair whirled around and then froze, gaping at him, as if afraid he was seeing things, only imagining or hallucinating his presence.

“I’m real, babe,” he affirmed, and stepped forward, his arms held wide.

“Oh, my God,” Blair gasped, and then lunged toward him. “Jim!”

They embraced hard and just held on for a long time, Blair’s head against his shoulder and his face buried in Blair’s hair. Just holding Blair, feeling his sturdy body against his own, his senses filled with the man, Jim felt incandescent joy suffuse him. He thought he’d lost this, lost Blair, and would never see him again, never hold him ever again. The strength and power of the love he felt blotted out everything else but immense gratitude that Blair was alive, really alive. He hadn’t lost him. Hadn’t lost him. He couldn’t speak, could hardly breathe, could only hold on for dear life.

But, gradually, Jim’s awareness of the world around him, and the dangers that still threatened his beloved, reminded him that they were still very far from being safe.

“Can any of them hear us?” Jim finally managed to ask.

“Can you hear them?”

“Just voices, no words.”

“Then we need to be quiet. Several of them can hear as well as you can and would know I’m not alone out here. They monitor me pretty closely … it’s a sentinel thing, I think,” Blair told him softly as he straightened. Reaching up, he traced reverent fingertips over Jim’s cheek and lips. “You found me faster than I thought you would.”

Grimacing, some of his irritation at being left in the dark resurfacing, Jim growled, “No thanks to you. Why the hell didn’t you just tell me what was going on? I could have helped you.”

“No, man, you couldn’t,” Blair replied wearily and took a step back. “Maybourne holds all the cards here.”

“Is Brackett his ace in the hole?”

“Yeah,” Blair nodded, turning away. “I’m sorry, Jim. I’m sorry I lied to you and disappeared like that.” He cut Jim a quick glance and the sorrow in his eyes lanced through Jim’s heart. “I saw you, outside the loft. And he had a directional mike in the car. I – God, Jim, I’m so sorry I hurt you so bad.”

Jim just sighed and looked away. This was neither the time nor place for all they had to talk about. The priority was to get Blair away from there. “C’mon. I’ve got a car out on the road and Dad’s waiting at the airfield with the company jet.”

Blair blinked and held up his hands. “I can’t go with you.”

“Don’t give me that, Sandburg,” he snapped, not wanting to hear it. “I’m not leaving you here.”

“I _can’t_ go, Jim,” Blair argued plaintively. “Don’t you understand? I can’t go back to Cascade. Leaving here won’t make the threat go away.”

“I’ll take my chances with Brackett.”

“Yeah? Well, I won’t,” Blair retorted, the plaintive tone gone as he asserted himself strenuously. “And I won’t take the chance that Maybourne won’t make good on all his threats – telling the media that you really are a sentinel, turning Brackett loose to go after you and Mom. I will _not_ risk your lives. I can’t.”

“I’ll take care of things,” Jim grated, stepping closer and wanting so badly to shake Blair to make him see sense. “I’ll fix things.”

“How?” he demanded. “You think I haven’t thought about this? Short of murdering Maybourne and Brackett, I don’t see any way out of this mess.”

Jim grabbed him and pulled him close, claiming his mouth and kissing him until they were both breathless. “I won’t let them keep us apart,” he said fiercely, his hands digging into Blair’s arms.

Blair closed his eyes and bowed his head until his forehead rested on Jim’s chest. “I want to go with you. Don’t ever think I don’t,” he whispered, sounding broken. “But I can’t, Jim. And there’s nothing you can do, nothing either of us can do. I know you’ve done some hard stuff in your life, man. That you’ve lived with violence, both as a soldier and a cop. But you’re _not_ like them, Jim. You’re not a cold-blooded killer. It’s not in your to go out and _waste_ somebody just ‘cause they present a threat.” He looked up into Jim’s eyes and smiled sadly as he cupped Jim’s cheek. “You’ve got integrity. You’re decent. Even if you want to, you know that murdering them would destroy something inside of you. And I … I couldn’t stand that.”

“So – what? That’s it? You expect me to just walk away?” he hissed, wanting to scream with rage but knowing others might hear. “I don’t think I can do that, Chief. I know that I sure in hell don’t want to do that.” But, as his gaze searched Blair’s eyes, he knew his partner was right. Much as he wanted to take Maybourne and Brackett apart with his bare hands, he wasn’t a killer. In a fight, yes, he could kill to protect himself and others, but he’d never be able to stalk those men and kill them in cold blood, no matter how much he thought they deserved to be dead. Disgusted by his squeamishness, the lack of strength to do what was so necessary to their lives and happiness, his shoulders slumped and he turned his face away.

“Ah, God, Jim, don’t feel so bad about being a good man,” Blair said tremulously as he wrapped his arms around Jim and leaned in close. “Just … just hold me, okay? I’ve missed you so much, man. Ached for you.”

“Blair, come with me,” he urged desperately.

But Blair shook his head. “This won’t go on forever,” he whispered, doing his best to offer consolation when there was none. “At some point, probably sooner rather than later, Maybourne will run out of sentinels. Hell, I can’t believe he already found nineteen. I’ve got potential guides coming at the end of the week. Once they’re trained and I’ve got pairs working together, this ‘class’ will be done. When he doesn’t need me anymore ….”

“He’ll probably ‘disappear’ you for real,” Jim told him bluntly, fear making his tone harsh. “Jack says this guy takes no prisoners. He’ll only keep you alive so long as you serve a purpose. He faked your death, Chief. He’s not ever going to let you go. He can’t afford to.”

Blair pulled away and dragged his fingers through his hair in agitation. “What do you want from me, Jim?” he appealed, holding his hands out. “You want me to risk getting my mother murdered. Getting you killed? You know I _can’t_ do that, man. I can’t and I won’t.” Whirling way, he faced toward the lodge and sighed heavily. “And then there’s them, all of them. None of this is their fault. They’re not ready to go back to active duty yet – and if they push it, or Maybourne does, it _will_ cost them their lives. You know better than anyone else how vulnerable they would be. They need trained guides to go with them. No matter how much I want to, I can’t leave here until they’re ready.”

“They’re not your responsibility,” Jim argued hotly.

Turning back to face him, Blair retorted, “Yes, Jim, they are. I’m the _only_ one who can help them right now. What? You want me to abandon them? They’re good people, man. Dedicated members of the military who are prepared to put their lives on the line for all the rest of us. Men and women just like you, Jim. You seriously want me to leave them all at risk – when a few more days, less than two weeks at most, could make all the difference for them?”

It was all Jim could do to stop himself from raging that Blair had abandoned him, so why should he care about a pack of strangers, or agree they took precedence? But that wasn’t fair. And it wasn’t right. In their own way, all those soldiers, sailors and airmen were innocent bystanders. Blair had nailed it. If they didn’t complete their training, however rudimentary it might be, and if they didn’t have competent guides with them, their lifespan would most probably be severely curtailed. They deserved better than that.

Raking his hand over his head, blowing a long breath to calm down, Jim bargained, “Okay, tell you what. I’ll get your mother and I’ll make sure she’s somewhere safe. Then I’ll come back for you.”

“And then what?” When Jim gave him a lascivious grin, Blair snorted, but the tension in him eased, as Jim had hoped it would. “Okay, yeah, that, big time – but, seriously, Jim, we couldn’t go back to Cascade.”

“Then we’ll go somewhere else,” he said with a shrug.

“But –”

“But, nothing, Chief. The other alternative is that we hold our own press conference and tell the whole sorry story. Maybourne wouldn’t be able to touch you, or me, or Naomi, then.”

“You really believe that? You believe he wouldn’t make good on his threats about what would happen if I ever talked? Brackett’s not the only assassin in the world. Maybourne would sic someone on us that couldn’t be tied to him. Or am I wrong about that? Would he just give up and let it go?”

Skepticism and hope mingled on Blair’s face in an expression so poignant that it broke Jim’s heart. He couldn’t lie, couldn’t pretend that what he was saying wasn’t four parts wishful thinking and one part bravado. “I don’t know the man. I don’t know what he’d do,” he finally admitted, feeling the hated sense of hopelessness creep over him. His eyes burned and he swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat. “I just … I just need you back, Chief. Want you back. I can’t … I don’t want to live my life without you.”

“I don’t want to live without you, either,” Blair sighed. He took Jim’s arm and led him to the log he usually sat on, and drew him down. They clung tightly to one another in silence.

“There has to be a way,” Jim muttered. “I’ll talk to Jack. He knows people, powerful people. We’ll find a way, Chief. We have to.”

Blair nodded against his chest. “A plan would be a good thing. Just … just take care of my Mom, okay? Maybourne … Maybourne’s watching her – and you. He calls me every few days to give me an update, just to let me know, I think, that he’s keeping tabs on your movements. Please, Jim, don’t let anyone hurt her.”

“I won’t,” Jim promised. “I think you’ll be safe enough until you’re finished with this group. You’re sure they’ll be ready to be deployed within two weeks?”

“Yeah, two weeks at most, if the guides all work out,” Blair told him. “They’re a good bunch, Jim. I like them and, and I really have been able to help them, so something good has come out of all this. Quite a few remind me of you.”

“Not too much, I hope,” Jim teased, though he felt forlorn and uncomfortably aware of a flash of jealousy of these other sentinels that he knew was unwarranted. Having just found Blair and now having to go back without his lover tore him up inside.

“No, man, no worries about that,” Blair replied fondly. He hesitated, and then said, “I’m glad you found me. And I’m glad you don’t hate me for what I did.”

Jim closed his eyes and held on harder. “Sandburg, you are such an idiot sometimes.”

“Maybe. But I’m your idiot.”

“Yes, yes, you are.” He stroked Blair’s arm and nuzzled his temple. “Okay,” he murmured, “at the end of next week, I’m going to come back for you. And you will come with me then, Chief, even if I have to drag you away.”

Blair lifted his face, and Jim kissed him deeply knowing that the kiss had to last him until he came back.

Next time, he promised himself, no matter what, whatever it took, he would not be leaving alone.

Before he left, Jim pulled a small bundle of cards from his jacket pocket. “I … well, I kinda thought you might refuse to come with me so I brought these along. You didn’t have a chance to read them before ….”

Blair looked confused for a moment as he reached to take the envelopes, but then his expression cleared and he looked up at Jim with astonished and poignant gratitude. “Your love letters …?”

“Yeah,” Jim nodded, feeling awkward. “Fair’s fair. I got to read yours, right?”

Impulsively, Blair yanked Jim into a hard embrace. “Thanks, man. I’ll hold onto them and keep them close until I see you again,” he rasped. Stepping back, he caressed Jim’s cheek. “Can’t wait to read them.”

“Well, don’t expect too much,” Jim replied with a small smile. “I’m no poet.” God, it was hard to go without him and, for a brief moment, Jim considered just grabbing his partner and hauling him away. Before he could give in to his inclination, he dropped a kiss on Blair’s forehead and then turned to hurry back to his car.

**

Josh jogged into the games room and motioned to Marcus. “There’s a car parked just up the road,” he reported when the seaman joined him.

“It’s Ellison,” Marcus replied, jerking his head toward the back of the lodge and the woods behind. “He’s been trying to persuade Blair to leave with him, but Blair refuses to go. Says it’s too dangerous, that Maybourne would send somebody called Brackett after Blair’s mother and Ellison.” Angrily, he shook his head. “This is seriously bad shit, man.”

Josh cocked his head and then frowned. “You could hear them from in here?”

“Nah, I followed a bit, just to keep an eye on him, you know? Make sure he didn’t fall into the creek in the dark. And that’s when I heard Ellison. I just came back a few minutes ago – thought I should give them some, uh, privacy.”

Josh’s brows elevated at the tone. “They’re together?”

“Yeah, that’s what it sounded like. Anyway, Ellison is going to talk to somebody named Jack, to get ideas on how to extricate Blair from this mess without anybody getting killed. And he’s promised to watch out for Blair’s mother. Sounds like they’ll try to pull him out in two weeks, once we’re finished here. What’d you find out?”

“That Brackett is ex-CIA, an assassin, and is currently locked up in Leavenworth.”

“No shit? Well, maybe we won’t need to get involved after all – looks like Ellison might have everything in hand, or he will soon, anyway,” Marcus said.

“Yeah, maybe,” Josh temporized with a worried frown. “So long as Blair’s out of here before we leave.”

“You’re thinking like Ellison,” Marcus told him darkly. “That if Maybourne can’t come up with more sentinels, he’ll have no need for the Professor. And that might not be a good thing for the Prof’s continued good health.”

“So we stay alert and play it out,” Josh decided. “And hope that this Ellison can pull the rabbit out of the hat.”

Marcus scowled. “Don’t you mean hide one up his sleeve? And then pull a disappearing act? ‘Cause that’s the only way he’ll shake Maybourne off their tails.” When Josh didn’t say anything, he leaned forward and said tightly, “Ellison wanted him to leave tonight. And, yeah, part of the reason Blair refused was because he’s scared. He asked Ellison to make sure his mother is safe. But the other reason he wouldn’t just up and leave is because he wasn’t willing to abandon us. Said our lives would be at risk if we didn’t finish the training and if the guides didn’t know how to back us up. I tell you, man, Tony is right. We owe this guy. There’s gotta be a way to help spring him loose from Maybourne’s clutches.”

Josh’s jaw tightened and, frustration clear in his stance, he looked away for a long moment. Then he nodded decisively to himself. Turning back to Marcus, anger sparked in his eyes as he said flatly, “This is such bullshit. We need a plan.”

**

When Jim entered the pilots’ lounge, his father looked up with bright expectation that instantly transformed to worry.

“Wasn’t he there?” William asked, concern heavy in his voice.

“Yeah, he was there,” Jim rumbled in exasperation. “He won’t leave, not yet, anyway. Says it’s too dangerous for his mother and me.” Sighing, he added, “And for the sentinels he’s training.”

William’s lips thinned and his brow furled in thought. Reluctantly, he allowed, “He has a point about the danger, son.”

“What about the danger to him?” Jim demanded, needing to fight with someone.

His father lifted his hands. “Hold on. I’m not saying we give up, just that we get better prepared.”

Sighing, Jim massaged the back of his neck and nodded reluctantly. “We’ve got two weeks, maybe less, before he’s finished with this group. After that, there’s no knowing whether there are others to send to him. If not ….” His voice trailed off. Pulling himself together, he went on, “I promised him I’d make sure his mother is safe.”

“Fine, then that’s the first step,” William stated firmly. “Where is she?”

“Los Angeles – Long Beach, to be specific.”

“Okay, let me just file a flight plan and we’ll go get her,” his father said briskly. “Just give me a few minutes to make some arrangements at that end, and we can be on our way. I’ve already had the craft refueled.”

“Dad, wait, I haven’t figured out yet what to do with her – what to tell her,” Jim protested.

William snorted. “Don’t make this more complicated than it needs to be, Jimmy. We’ll tell her the truth, and I’ll take her up to the cabin. Nobody will ever think of looking for her there. I’ll stay with her until it’s time to come back into the city to bring you back here. She can come back with us in case you and Blair decide that you can’t return to Cascade right away. If that happens, well, I can set the three of you up anywhere, here or out of the country, where no one would find you.”

“Dad, you don’t understand how dangerous this could be. If they find her with you –”

“I understand the circumstances perfectly,” William cut in. Before Jim could say anything else, his father turned and hurried away.

Jim gaped after his father, and then rubbed his face with his hands as he quickly thought through what needed to be done. From what Blair had said, there was a good chance the two of them were still being watched. So if he suddenly showed up on her doorstep and then she disappeared off the face of the earth, Maybourne would smell a rat.

Shaking his head, he pulled out his cell phone and punched in her number. When she answered, he listened intently to the sound of the line, but couldn’t detect any indication that it was tapped. What if the watcher was using some other listening device? “Naomi,” he said, “It’s Jim. Look, this is going to sound strange, but I need you to trust me, okay? Don’t say my name. Just tell me, can you do that? Can you trust me?”

 _“Of course,”_ she replied, sounding bewildered. _“Why?”_

“Do you remember meeting my father at the service last week?”

 _“Yes, yes, I do.”_

“Good. He’s going to come to your apartment in,” he glanced at his watch, “about five hours. I need you to go with him and, uh, take a bag with some casual clothing, as if you’re going on a holiday for a couple weeks – you know, like he’s a … a friend. And, uh, don’t say his name, either. Call him George or whatever.”

 _“What’s going on?”_ she demanded, her tone sharpening.

“I’ll explain as soon as I see you, I promise. Just do this for me, okay? Please, Naomi. It’s important.”

There was a long pause and then she said, _“Alright, fine.”_ Her tone turned coquettish as she went on, “ _I could use a couple weeks holiday in Tahiti, sweetie. Or maybe your villa in Tuscany. Thank you. I’ll be ready.”_

“Great – you catch on fast. Thanks. See you soon.”

Jim couldn’t help but smile at her conspiratorial giggle as he terminated the call. Shaking his head, remembering how quickly and enthusiastically she’d assumed the persona of a bigtime crook years ago to help with a case, he was still bemused by her ability to adapt to the unexpected. She’d certainly grasped the fact that ‘the game was afoot’, and responded in kind, though she could have no idea of what he wanted from her. With no little chagrin, he knew he had a tendency to think of her as a flake, but she wasn’t as empty-headed as she sometimes appeared.

But then, she was Blair’s mother, and Blair was brilliant. His partner had to have gotten at least some of his brains from her, along with healthy doses of charm, resilience and enthusiasm for life. For the first time, Jim felt a sense of real warmth toward her and thought he might actually get to really like her someday.

On the way back across the continent, William advised Jim of the plans he’d made to spirit Naomi away with no threat of being followed.

For a moment, Jim was speechless. Then he grinned with delight. “You’re a whole lot better at this cloak and dagger stuff than I would have ever expected.”

William snorted. “You underestimate the level of intrigue that is required in big business, son. Trust me; I know what I’m doing.”

**

When he returned to the lodge, Blair caught enough sidelong looks to know that at least some of the sentinels had heard something, but nobody said anything. A few gave him encouraging smiles, though he wasn’t sure why. He nodded to them and hurried up to his private quarters, where he turned on the white noise generator and pulled the cards Jim had given him from inside his shirt. He just held them for a bit, savoring the fact that Jim had written them and had thought to bring them for him to read. The tender thoughtfulness touched him deeply.

He took a breath, drew the first card from its envelope and admired the radiant sunrise pictured on the front of it. Inside, Jim had written:

 _Blair, the day you came into my life, it was like a bright new sun had risen in my world, bringing light into the darkness of my confusion and … fear. I need the light you bring, the warmth and promise you give, as much or more than the earth needs the sun. Thank you for being the light of my life. Love, Jim_

“Ah, Jim,” he sighed as he touched the words. “Who says you’re not a poet?” His chest grew tight with the ache of the love he felt. And then he opened the next card in the small stack and grinned at the picture of a fisherman wearing gaiters and standing in a rushing river as he fought to reel in a big fish.

 _My little guppy – remember when I called you that? We need to go fishing more often. But even if we never go again, it would be okay, because I’ve already made the biggest and best catch of my life. When I look at you, I feel such pride and, I guess, humble, too, that you love me the way you do. And when I’m with you, no matter what we’re doing, I have the best time of my life – every single time, every single day. I hope we have at least 36,500 more days together. Love, Jim_

“I have the best time, too,” he murmured. “Only a hundred years? Nah, not long enough. Forever, man. That’s what I want.”

The next card had Kipling’s poem, The Thousandth Man, printed on the cover and inside,

 _Chief, We joked tonight about what we love about one another … but it’s not really a joking matter. And I don’t even know where to begin to tell you. But, well, you’re the ‘thousandth man’. The best partner and best friend any man could ever have. Better than I deserve, that’s for damned sure. You make me a better man and you make me want to be better still. Do you know how much I value you and all you’ve done for me, given to me? I’m afraid you don’t, because I don’t say much most of the time. You make my life worth living, and you make the hard times bearable. You make it possible for me to be the best I can be. There aren’t words, Blair, to say how much you mean to me, but this poem comes close to expressing some of what I feel. Love, Jim_

His eyes blurred and he sniffed as he swiped the salty moisture away. Once more, he read the poem on the cover, a poem he’d always loved, and shuddered with emotion as he drew a deep breath. He wondered if Jim had any idea of what it meant to him to be called ‘the thousandth man’. To be seen to be so special, so … treasured. And to know that Jim saw him as a man he could count on to go to any lengths, a man who would do anything for him.

“You’re my life,” he whispered with a full heart as he lifted his eyes to the night sky and thought of Jim flying away, back to Cascade. “God, I want to be with you so much. So very much.”

Tenderly, he laid the card down with the others he’d read, and opened the next. There was a huge bouquet of gorgeous red roses pictured on the cover.

 _Dear Blair, I’ve never given you flowers. I’m not particularly good at the mushy stuff, and I don’t even know if you’d appreciate getting flowers. But I guess love letters should have some romance in them, huh? So, here goes and if you laugh at this, I may have to kill you. I love you more with every breath I take. I love you more than I thought it possible to love. Love you so much that sometimes I ache with the need to touch you and hold you close. Being loved by you fills me with joy and you’ve made me the happiest man on earth. I’d rather die than hurt you and I hope, when the time comes, that I die first, because I don’t ever want to live without you. I love you, Blair Sandburg, with my whole heart and soul, and with every fiber of my being – and I always will. Jim_

Blair smiled as he reread the words. “Some tough guy you turned out to be. Man, you’re _such_ a romantic!” he said softly, shaking his head with pleased bemusement. “I guess we better go out together, ‘cause there’s no way I want to live without you, either.” He closed the card and studied the picture of the roses. “I wonder if _you’d_ like flowers?” His smiled broadened when he decided to go into town and order a huge bouquet to be sent to Jim the next week and he chuckled as he imagined Jim’s face when he received it.

The next card showed a woebegone dog with big, sorrowful eyes.

 _Chief, I know there have been times when I’ve hurt you, badly. I can’t tell you how sorry I am about that, how much I regret those times and wish I could live them over, do better. But I promise you, I’ll do my best to never hurt you again. I’ll probably screw up, though. When I do, this card is your free pass to smack me upside the head or shake me until my teeth rattle for being a fool. I want to be your best friend, and I promise to do my best to never let you down again.  
Love, Jim_

Blair looked away from the card and sighed. “You don’t have a monopoly on the screwing-up part,” he said sadly. “I’ve sure done my share and then some. I’m sorry, too, Jim. Sorry for all the times I’ve hurt you and let you down.”

Finally, reluctantly, not wanting an end to the cards and the messages, he opened the last one. Cocking his head, he studied the reproduction of a lone cowboy sitting by a campfire at night, looking chilled and lonely. Curious about what the picture meant, he opened the card.

 _Beloved, unlike the poor schmuck on the front of this card, I don’t face the night alone. At the end of the day, you’re here with me, filling my life with laughter and love. You’re my safe place, my refuge. Yeah, I know, you’re there during the day, too, thank God. But it’s at night, when we’re laying skin to skin, when we’ve made love and are sleepy, that I’m most grateful to have you in my arms, to have the comfort and peace you give me. Whatever the daylight and the coming years may bring, I know you’ll be there for me and I’ll be there for you. Whatever comes, we’ll face it together. Without you, I’d be like the cowboy, lost and alone, and very lonely, and I never want to spend another night of my life like him. Thank you, Blair, for loving me and for sharing your life, your days and your nights with me. Love, Jim_

“Oh, man,” Blair breathed, shaking with sorrow, and tears again burned his eyes as he recalled Jim’s wrenching sobs the day Jim had thought he’d died. “I swear,” he vowed fervently, “if we ever find a way to fix this mess, I will never, _ever_ leave you again.” He thought again about how he’d sent Jim away, had refused to go with him, and he closed his eyes against the pain and grief and guilt that nearly overwhelmed him. For all that the world saw Jim as a tough guy, an inveterate loner, he had a core of vulnerability deep within that he kept shielded and trusted to very, very few. He’d trusted Blair, had dropped all the walls and let him inside – and Blair knew he’d wounded Jim badly by leaving him, by not having told him the truth, straight up. The circumstances that had forced him into going didn’t mitigate or in one iota change the pain he’d caused Jim to suffer. “I’m sorry, Jim,” he sighed as he caressed the words with his fingertips. “I promise, man, I _promise_ I won’t ever hurt you like this again.”

**

William parked the rental town car on the street in front of a charming mansion that had been converted into individual apartments. _Nice neighborhood,_ he thought, and pulled his felt cap down low over his brow, to shadow his face. When he got out of the car, he casually kept his face averted from the streetlights, as Jim had coached him to do. Making his way up the walkway to the entrance, he noted the lush, well-kept gardens lit by elegant wrought-iron torches, and the stately trees that would provide cool shade on hot days. As he climbed the stone steps and pushed the buzzer to gain entry, he idly wondered how Naomi Sandburg afforded her exceedingly comfortable lifestyle. So far as he knew, Blair certainly didn’t seem to have a lot of extra cash. But then he frowned and chastised himself. It wasn’t any of his business and, well, it was probably indelicate to even wonder where the income came from or how Blair’s mother paid her bills.

Once inside the spacious entry hall, he followed the corridor past a sweeping staircase that led to upper units. A door farther along opened and she came into the hall to wave him forward.

“Herbie, how wonderful to see you!” she called, as if delighted by him and he couldn’t resist smiling. _Herbie?_ “Come in,” she urged as she drew him inside. “I’m nearly ready. Do you have time for a drink, darling, or are you going to simply whisk me away to one of your gorgeous hideaways?”

“Simply going to whisk you away,” he rejoined with a warm chuckle. “You are as beautiful as ever, my dear.” His voice deepened and slowed as he went on, “I was so very sorry to hear what happened, Naomi, and I just had to see you to offer what comfort I can.”

She sighed heavily and nodded, the sorrow on her face unfeigned. “You were always so thoughtful. I shouldn’t have been surprised by your call earlier. Going away for a while, to just … just meditate and process will help me more than I can say.”

“Is this all you’re taking?” he asked, gesturing to the two compact cases near the door.

“Yes, that’s all of it.” With a small, musical laugh, she said, “I learned to pack light a long time ago.”

“And if you find you need anything during our holiday, we can always go shopping,” he replied warmly. He bent to pick up one case and settle the other under his arm. “Come, my lady, your chariot awaits. Let’s be on our way.”

She turned out the lights and followed him out, holding his free arm and staying close to his side once they were outside. William glanced up and down the street, but there was no way of knowing if anyone was watching. He helped her into the car, put the bags in the trunk, and then slid behind the wheel. Only once they’d driven in silence for a few blocks did she turn to him and reach out to clasp his arm lightly.

“What’s this all about, William? What’s going on?”

“I think I’d better let Jim explain,” he replied, then added with a small smile quirking the corners of his lips, “But don’t be afraid. The danger is real, and you did a great job of misdirecting anyone who might have been listening in, but I think … well, as I say, I’ll let Jim fill you in on the details.”

“Very mysterious. But why would anyone be ‘listening in’ to my conversations?” she wondered, appearing amused rather than concerned as she settled in her seat. “Where are we going?”

“To the airport. Jim’s waiting for us there.”

Naomi was even more confused a little over an hour later when William handed the keys of his vehicle to a valet, gave his name as Herbert Aimes, and indicated he’d retrieve the car in two months. Then, taking her bags and lightly gripping her arm in a possessive gesture that hinted at intimacy, he escorted her through the busy international terminal at LAX, leading her into back corridors that eventually gave egress to the airfield – where a helicopter was waiting for them. William helped her inside and simply grinned when she gave him a wide-eyed look of confusion. Fifteen minutes later, the copter put them down on the far side of the Long Beach Airport, where private aircraft were assigned dedicated airstrips. Ushering her across the edge of the tarmac, he pointed her toward a sleek jet. Her brows raised and she glanced askance at him but, again, he only encouraged her with a smile.

Jim was waiting inside, and he escorted her to one of the plush leather seats behind the cockpit. “Anyone follow you?” he asked his father.

“Not that I could tell,” William replied with a shrug and then he grinned. “If her place is bugged, they think she’s going away with Herbie, and I used that name with the valet parking at LAX.”

“Herbie?” Jim echoed and laughed.

“Well, you _said_ not to use William’s name,” she explained, but hastily waved off their amusement. “What’s going on, Jim? You’re acting as if I’m in some kind of danger, but that’s ridiculous.”

Sitting down beside her, he took her hand in his which, from the alarm on her face, only frightened her.

“Naomi, I’ve got some very good news,” he told her, and she frowned as her green eyes searched his face.

“Jim, forgive me, but … the only ‘good news’ I’d want to hear right now is news you’re never going to be able to give me, so would you just spit out whatever it is,” she replied with some asperity, though the sorrow that darkened her eyes caught at William’s heart.

“Just tell her, Jim,” he urged.

Nodding, Jim said gently, “Blair’s alive, Naomi. I talked to him just before I called you.”

Her lips parted, one hand flew to her throat, and she paled. Tears glistened in her wide eyes. “A-alive?” she stammered, looking from Jim to William, and back. “But how? He escaped the car wreck? Is he hurt?” She gripped his hands and demanded, “Where is he? When can I see him?”

“Easy,” Jim soothed. “I know this is a shock. Let me take your questions one at a time. Blair wasn’t in the car when it went over that cliff. After you left last week, I discovered a note he’d left me that explained that his death had been faked and he’d been forced to –”

“You knew last week and you didn’t tell me!” she exclaimed, outraged. “How dare you –”

“Naomi, listen to what I’m saying,” he returned, his tone firm. “He was forced to comply with the demand that he disappear – they threatened to murder you and me if he refused.”

“Who did this? Why? Wait – it’s this sentinel business, isn’t it?” she challenged. Tears again brimmed in her eyes. “This is my fault, isn’t it? Because of what I did with his paper. This is all my fault. But – he’s alright, isn’t he? Why isn’t he here with you?”

“This isn’t your fault, Naomi,” William interjected, feeling badly for her and wondering how he’d be reacting if it was Jim who had been thought dead. Grimly, he thought back to when he’d believed his son had been killed in Peru, and then how he’d nearly collapsed with wonder and relief to learn so many months later that Jim was still alive. All things considered, he thought she was taking the news well.

“Dad’s right,” Jim hastened to assure her. “Though, yes, it has something to do with sentinels. They need Blair to train sentinels for them. They needed him because he’s a guide; probably the only guide in the modern world. And, yes, he’s alright, for now, at least. He refused to come with me when I saw him; he’s afraid of the threat hanging over us and, well, because he feels an obligation to help the people he’s working with. But I’m going back to get him in less than two weeks, and he’ll come with me then.”

“Blair’s alive,” she whispered in wonder, as if the fact had just sunk in, and she began to shake. Her face crumpled and she lifted her hands to her mouth as she began to sob. “My baby, my baby,” she wept with unrestrained joy. “He’s alive. Alive!”

Jim quickly gathered her close. “Shh,” he crooned. “It’s okay. He’s okay, Naomi. We’re going to get him back.”

William gripped his son’s shoulder. “She’s not hysterical, Jim. She’s just happy, very happy,” he said, his own voice thick. “I cried too … when they found you in Peru.”

Jim flashed an astonished look at his father, but Naomi was recovering herself and pulling away from his embrace, drawing his attention back to her.

“Who did this?” she demanded, fury now flashing in her eyes.

“It’s complicated,” Jim sighed, finding her mercurial reactions exhausting. “And you’re not going to like the answer. But we have to keep things quiet for now, at least; Blair’s life could depend upon it. A colonel named Maybourne, in the National Intelligence Department, is the one behind all this, and there’s an assassin, named Lee Brackett; he’s the one Blair was threatened with. Blair’s training military men and women that were thought to be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, only they weren’t. They were suffering the sudden onset of their senses.”

“The military,” she spat as she sat up with frigid rigidity. “Of course, who else?”

“No, no, you’re wrong,” Jim insisted. “The military establishment wouldn’t know anything about this. Maybourne is acting on his own, I’m sure of it.”

Her gaze was withering in its disbelief.

“What matters right now,” William cut in, “is that we get you somewhere safe, as Blair asked us to do. He’s been very worried about you.”

“You’ve seen him?” she asked angrily, as if her prerogatives as his mother had been slighted.

“No, I haven’t,” he hastened to assure her. “But Jim told me that Blair wanted him to keep you safe, and that’s why we came directly here tonight. I’m going to fly us back to Cascade, and then I’m going to drive you to our family cabin near Mount Baker. No one would think of looking for you there. So far as anyone knows, we don’t know one another.”

“When we go back for Blair, we’ll take you with us,” Jim assured her.

“Where is he?” she asked, tears again leaking from her eyes.

“In Virginia,” Jim told her.

“Why can’t we go there right now?” she asked plaintively.

“Because it’s dangerous, and we need to do this right to make sure no one gets hurt,” Jim explained.

William handed her a handkerchief, and she dabbed at the tear stains on her face. “The main thing is that Blair is alive,” she said, her voice and hands trembling. “We can deal with the rest of it later.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner,” Jim apologized. “But your life and Blair’s rested on anyone watching believing that you were grieving.”

She sniffed and nodded. “I understand. I hate it, but I understand.”

“Well, I guess I’d better get this bird into the air,” William said then. “Strap yourselves in.”

**

Though it was nearly midnight, Jim stopped at a phone booth on his way home.

“It’s me, Simon,” he said. “Sorry it’s so late, but –”

“No, no, I’ve been waiting. Did you find him? Is he with you?”

“Yeah, he was there,” Jim sighed. “But, no, he’s not with me. He wouldn’t leave. Still thinks it’s too dangerous. And … and he wants to finish working with this batch of sentinels.”

Simon snorted. “Figures. Kid looks like a hippie, but once he takes something on, he sticks.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “I’m going back a week from Friday to get him, maybe sooner. And I’ve got Naomi stashed away, so she’s safe.”

“Good. You’ve made progress, then,” Simon approved. “You tell her?”

“Yeah,” Jim said. “Be good when we can tell everybody. Look, it’s late. See you tomorrow.”

“‘Night, Jim.”

**  


Blair laid awake a long time that night, thinking about Jim, about the notes he’d written, remembering the touch of his lips and hands … and worrying about what they’d do once he made his escape. When he’d left Jim, Blair had believed he could do this, could live apart from Jim … but this experience had taught him he couldn’t. There had to be a way for them to be together, just had to. This living apart was like dying by degrees, slowly but irrevocably dying. And the worst part wasn’t what he felt, but knowing that Jim felt the same way, felt the same pain. As much as he’d treasure those notes for the rest of his life, he almost wished Jim hadn’t brought them. Before reading them, he could tell himself that he was doing the right thing for the right reasons, that he’d had no choice but to leave, no choice but to have refused to go with Jim that evening. But now, now he knew that regardless of the risks and dangers, they _had_ to be together to be whole. “Next week, man, no matter what, next week I _will_ go with you, even if we have to go on the run.”

Exhausted, emotionally drained, he finally managed to drift into uneasy sleep well after midnight.

The loud ringing of the phone on the bedside table woke him abruptly just before dawn. Groggy, he fumbled to pick it up. “Yeah, uh, hello?” he mumbled, wondering what time it was.

 _“Who’s Herbie Aimes?”_ Maybourne demanded.

“What? Who?” he asked, irritation and antipathy toward the colonel making him more alert.

 _“Herbie. Older guy, mustache. Rich; has places in Tahiti and Italy. Showed up at your mother’s place late last evening.”_

Sitting up, frowning uncertainly at the description, Blair scratched his cheek and replied, “I don’t know any Herbie.”

Maybourne grunted. _“Too many boyfriends for you to keep track, huh?”_ he challenged, his tone nasty.

“My mother’s private life is her own business,” Blair retorted. “What’s it to you, anyway?”

 _“She went off with him to the airport. Took luggage. I want to know where they went.”_

Blair huffed a hollow laugh. “Good luck. Naomi goes where the wind takes her and comes back when she feels like it. I gave up trying to keep track of her years ago. If your watchdog lost her, that’s your problem, not mine.”

 _“Don’t get smart with me, kid, or I’ll –”_

“You’ll what? Fake my death? Destroy my life? Uh … already done, thank you very much,” Blair snapped furiously. “Give the threats a rest, already! So long as I’m doing my job, you won’t do anything, not to me, not to the people I love. That’s the deal.” But he closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. “Look, Mom does this, goes off for a few weeks or months, with friends, to retreats. She thinks I’m dead, right, so I’m not surprised she felt a need to get away from everything. Don’t worry so much. She’ll turn up again.”

When Maybourne didn’t say anything, he decided that redirecting the colonel’s attention might be a good idea. “Since you’re on the phone, can you give me an update on the guides? They still coming in on Thursday?”

 _“Yeah, around noon,”_ Maybourne replied.

“You got a line on more sentinels for me to work with?” Blair asked.

 _“Maybe,”_ the colonel replied. _“Still checking out possibilities. Haven’t found any more complaining of problems with more than one or two senses, but I will.”_

“I’m sure you will,” Blair said facetiously. “We done here?”

 _“I’ll find her, Sandburg.”_

“Yeah, well, like I said, man, good luck. Let me know when you track her down.”

Blair hung up and scrubbed his face with his hands. Who the hell was Herbie? Grimacing, he reflected that Naomi couldn’t have picked a worse time to up and disappear. Now what would Jim do? Hard to protect someone he couldn’t find. But … still, if she had dropped out of sight, then that was a good thing, right? By definition, she was safe so long as Maybourne didn’t know where she was.

But how long would it be before Maybourne tracked her down?

Shit! Just when he’d hoped that Jim would make sure she was safe, she had to go off with some strange guy … and then it hit him. Jim knew that anyone watching Naomi would recognize him, so he wouldn’t go for her personally, he’d send someone. But who would he send? Who would he trust? Could this ‘Herbie’ have been his emissary?

Blair chewed on his lip as he pondered the possibility that Jim _had_ gotten his mother away safe. But who … older, mustache, rich. Rich? If he didn’t know any better, he’d think it sounded like William Ellison. But Jim and his Dad weren’t that close. Unless … Maybourne had said something about Jim going fishing with his Dad. Could it have been William?

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense, _especially_ given the coincidental timing. Jim wouldn’t have wasted any time in spiriting Naomi away. Getting his father to pretend to be a ‘gentleman friend’ would be brilliant! Maybourne would never put that together!

Hope fed a growing certainty and he felt a surge of elated relief. Jim had promised to take care of Naomi. He’d know, as well as Maybourne, where his mother was, and would have moved immediately to extract her from harm’s way. The timing …? Maybourne said she’d left late the evening before. It had been early evening when Jim had left here. The timing worked. It worked! It had to have been Jim’s doing!

“Yes!” he cheered softly with wild joy and a bright smile as he jumped to his feet and punched the air victoriously.

Feeling suddenly lighter, some of the heavy weight of worry and fear that he’d been carrying for months easing, even if only a little, he boogied around the room. Stopping in front of the window, he stared west into the lightening sky. “You did it, man,” he whispered very softly, almost reverently, mindful of sentinels sleeping nearby. “She’s safe. Thank you.”

Wherever Naomi was, it was a place where Maybourne and Brackett would never find her. And Jim knew the dangers now, would be keeping tabs on Brackett, so if the rogue agent escaped, Jim would know and would be prepared and wouldn’t be blindsided. Jim would be okay. Inhaling deeply, Blair felt peace suffuse him. Regardless of what happened now, even if Maybourne grew suspicious when he eventually concluded there was no such person as ‘Herbie’ or that Naomi wasn’t in Tahiti or wherever, and things went off the rails, the two people he loved most were as safe as they could be.

Gradually, he became aware of the early morning chill and shivered. Crossing his arms, he scuttled back to the bed. Crawling back in, he drew the covers up over his shoulder and yawned widely. He could get at least two more hours of rest before he needed to get up. With a small smile, he closed his eyes. Maybe, just maybe, there’d be a way for them all to be safe. Holding onto that thought, savoring it, he slipped back to sleep and dreamed of making wild, exuberant love with Jim.

**

Jim called Jack Kelso from the office first thing the next morning.

“You were on the money,” he reported. “He’s there.”

 _“There? He didn’t return with you?”_

“No, not this time. We need a plan, Jack, and we’ve got less than two weeks before he’s finished with the first group. After that, there are no guarantees he’ll still be needed, and I’ve got to get him out of there.”

He could hear Kelso sigh. “Jack,” he insisted, “there has to be a way of doing this, of fixing the problem for good.”

 _“Tricky,”_ Jack returned. _“We need leverage we don’t have to box Maybourne in – and Brackett’s still a wild card. Let me think about it and I’ll get back to you.”_ He paused before adding warmly, _“I’m glad we’ve found him. Very glad.”_

“I owe you, Jack,” Jim replied solemnly. “We both do.”

The former agent laughed. _“I’ll look forward to a good dinner when all this is over.”_

**

Sitting on the deck with a delicate shawl woven of green and gold threads around her shoulders, sipping on a cup of tea, Naomi looked out over the pristine lake. William came out of the cabin to join her, a steaming mug of black coffee in his hand.

“It’s beautiful here,” she said with a smile that took his breath away. “And very peaceful. Thank you for giving me this refuge.”

“No thanks are necessary. I’m glad to be able to help Jimmy keep you safe until everything is sorted out,” he assured her as he settled into the chair next to her. “And I’m glad you like the place. I’ve always loved it up here, though I never spent enough time enjoying it when the boys were young. So busy making a living that I forgot to just live.”

“I hear that,” she answered with a knowing nod. “So very many people in our society are seduced by the dream of riches, and think their happiness depends upon having more than enough money, when that’s not what life is about at all.”

“Took me a long time to find that out,” he said with a rueful sigh. “Wasn’t enough that my wife left me because she felt I loved my work more than her. I had to drive Jimmy away, too.” Shaking his head as he looked up at the mountain, he confided, “But the wake-up call came too late, I’m afraid; by the time I realized what I’d done, he was already gone. Can’t tell you how often I cursed my stupidity and blindness, how badly I wished I could relive those years. I was afraid I’d lost him for good, and for years I was sure I had. At least I did better with Steven after that. Wasn’t such a martinet.”

“Why were you hard on your sons?” she asked curiously.

He shrugged with awkward embarrassment. “I grew up poor, Naomi, and we _knew_ we were poor. Do you know what I mean when I say that?”

She cocked her head as she studied him. “I’m not sure. As a child, I wanted for nothing. Was spoiled rotten, to tell you the truth. After I ran away from home, there were some hard times, I suppose, but I was too full of myself and the excitement of youth to really notice. I just expected things to work out and they generally did. After Blair was born, well, we never had much in terms of material things, but life was good, full of friends, adventures, enough to eat, somewhere to sleep.” She looked away, hesitating a long moment before continuing. “I suppose you’d think my life immoral but I’ve never subscribed to the constraining mores of our society. I … well, I enjoyed the company of many men over the years, and they enjoyed mine. I thought life was about having fun, living and loving in the moment, enjoying the earth and its abundance of beauty in all its forms.” With a winsome smile, she added, “I still do.”

“There was a time when I would have thought that was irresponsible,” he admitted. “Now, I’m not so sure. But when I was a child, we didn’t move because we wanted to, but because we had to. My father gambled away just about every dollar he earned. We went hungry on a regular basis, and my parents had terrible, terrible battles, verbal and physical … to a small child, that was very frightening. I was embarrassed at school because we were dressed in little more than rags – other kids made fun of us. I never had many friends.”

“We?” she probed delicately.

Sadness suffused William’s features. “I had a younger brother. His name was … was Jimmy.” He swallowed to clear his throat, and looked away over the water. “When he was seven, he got sick, very sick. Looking back, I guess it was pneumonia. There was no money for the medicine he needed and he died in the bed we shared.” The weight of the memory bowed his head. “He died because we were poor, or so I thought at the time. My mother went a little crazy and she attacked my father, screaming that it was his fault, all his fault. He … he hit her. She fell back, hit her head on the corner of the dresser. She died there on the floor. The police came. My father went to jail for manslaughter. He died in prison.”

“Oh, William,” she gasped, shock and sorrow flooding her face.

Closing his eyes, he resisted the urge to become defensive in the face of her pity. It was still so hard to bare himself to anyone, and he wasn’t sure why he was being so forthcoming with her. Hell, even his sons didn’t know any of this. But he understood very well her fear for her son, and he admired her bravery and resilience in accepting the facts, and the dangers, without complaint. Despite Jim’s reassurances on the weekend, he still blamed himself for all the events that had led to Blair being taken, and their lives being held in the balance. Perhaps it was cowardly of him, but he wanted her to know that he hadn’t acted out of malice all those years ago when he’d taught Jim to hide his senses. Grimacing, he felt, purely and simply, that he owed her the story, the truth, of what had eventually led him to become the man he’d been – and had led to the damage he’d done.

“I hated being poor,” he said with raw emphasis, “and I feared it. I was only eight years old at the time, but I swore to myself that my kids would never know poverty. Would never – _ever_ – be in danger of dying because there was not enough money to care for them. I, uh, I guess I stopped being a child the night Jimmy died. Stopped caring whether I had any fun or not. Fun wasn’t important. Survival was what mattered. From that night until the day Jim left, the driving motivation in my life was to make money and lots of it, so I could keep my family safe. And, and I spent their childhoods trying to instill the same lessons in them – that they had to be tough and that the measure of their success was the things they could earn.”

He felt her soft hand on his arm, warm and comforting. “I’m so sorry,” she said with gentle compassion. “So very sorry.”

He covered her hand briefly with his own, and then patted it. “That was all a long time ago. It took losing another Jimmy, another boy I loved more than life, to make me come to my senses.” Leaning back in his chair, he shifted to face her. “I loved my wife and my two boys mean the world to me. When they were young, I did everything I could to teach them to be tough, to be competitive, because I thought that’s what they needed to survive. In my experience, love was dangerous. Love left you wide open to be hurt. I thought teaching them to love, and showing my love for them, would make them weak. I was wrong and I did a lot of damage. All they really needed was to be kept safe and to be loved.”

Very conscious of her steady gaze upon him, he rubbed his mouth and sighed. “I came to my senses in time to be a different father to Stevie, and we’re okay, we get along, though those early lessons still leave him a bit wary of me, and I truly regret that. He tries too hard to please me, and I worry that he’s living the life he thinks I want for him, rather than the one he wants for himself. But Jim? I hurt him badly, Naomi, bad enough to make him hide his senses, to fear them … and I drove him away. I’ve got a second chance with him now, and I’m grateful for that, but I’ve got a lot to make up for.”

“Jim loves you, Bill,” she assured him, and he was struck by the fondness in her voice as she employed the more familiar diminutive. “When the story broke about his senses, I remember how upset he was by what it meant for you and Steven. He wouldn’t have cared about that if he didn’t care a great deal about you, both of you. And, from the little I saw last night, the two of you seem to be getting along just fine. Whatever happened years ago, you’re doing all you can to help now, and I think that means a great deal to him.”

He gave her a small smile. “We spent last weekend up here, Jim and me. It was good. I think … I think he’s really ready to give me another chance.”

“Oh, I think you can count on that,” she replied warmly. “What about your wife?” she asked then. “Were you never able to reconcile with her?”

He shook his head and again turned his face away. Taking a sip of coffee, he struggled with the old grief and guilt. “Not long after she left me,” he finally replied, “Gracie was killed in an accident. She, uh, just stopped dead in the middle of the street and was hit by a truck.” He blew a long breath and revealed, “She’d often get distracted by something around her – a sound or something she saw. And she was often so … so uncomfortable in her clothing, her skin itching so much that it drove her half-crazy and she’d be oblivious to everything else. I didn’t understand it at the time. Didn’t understand anything until your son explained what a sentinel is to Jim, and he explained it to me. I didn’t know how to help her. Oh, I paid for the best specialists, but none of the doctors could figure out what was wrong with her. They, uh, they suggested it was all psychological. They made her believe that she was crazy. Poor Gracie didn’t have a Blair, and I think it cost her her life.”

Finally meeting Naomi’s eyes, he confided, “I knew Jimmy took after her. When he was a baby, his skin was unbelievably sensitive and the poor kid had the worst rashes. And he couldn’t tolerate anything but the most bland of foods. After she died, I was sure whatever had been wrong with her would kill him, too. I was terrified that in one of his moments of distraction that he’d … he’d ….” He sighed heavily. “So I did all I could to stifle those senses and make him fear them, so he’d fight them and never admit to them. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was keeping him safe.”

“You were doing your best,” she murmured softly.

Not at all sure he deserved the absolution, his lips thinned and his gaze dropped briefly. But her lack of censure eased the tight knot of guilt and regret in his chest, at least a little, and he was grateful that she didn’t judge him harshly. Lifting his eyes to hers, he went on, “I’m so sorry that what I did to Jimmy when he was a boy has made things so hard for your son. Blair wouldn’t have had to deny himself and his career if Jim wasn’t so afraid of anyone knowing about his special skills. He probably wouldn’t be in this predicament now.” Reaching out, he took Naomi’s hand. “I can’t ever thank you enough for having raised such a fine boy. He’s … he’s been so good for Jimmy, helped him when no one else could have. And he’s certainly made my son very happy.”

Her eyes misted. “Jim makes Blair very happy, too. So it seems to work both ways. And …” her voice hitched, “and I know Jim will do everything in his power to bring Blair home and keep him safe.”

William nodded his own rock solid certainty of that. “I’ve been thinking about whether there’s any way I can help,” he told her then. “I know some people in D.C. who might be able to rein Maybourne in, force him to leave Blair alone. But I’d have to tell them everything, and I’m not sure how Jimmy, or Blair for that matter, would feel about that. I’m going to call him later, see what he thinks about getting them involved. I … I don’t want to do anything that might complicate things for him.”

“When you’re talking to him, tell him I know some people, too – reporters and quite a few high-profile human rights activists. If it would help to get media support, I know just who to call. But after the mess I made of everything, I vowed to myself to never again do anything without their approval first.”

“We’re a fine pair, Naomi,” William said with a sigh. “While trying to do the right things, we’ve done everything wrong.”

“Not everything,” she countered, teasing gently. “They’re both very good men, so we must’ve done some things right. Of course we made mistakes,” she went on blithely, “– we’re only human. But in our own way, I think we both did the best we could. And I think they both know that.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, impulsively taking her hand in his. “Despite the circumstances, I’m delighted to have the chance to know you better.”

“Me, too,” she replied with a dazzling smile and, holding his gaze with her own, with a directness that quickened his heart. “Very glad.”

**

Lee Bracket lay on his side, curled under the blanket he’d pulled up over his shoulders and staring at the wall opposite the door. He heard the key in the lock, and the smell of the over-cooked food on the tray the guard, Tremayne, was carrying was nauseating. His hunger strike, now in its third week, was a drag but no real hardship given the slop he was avoiding; fasting wasn’t as dire and dangerous as most overfed Americans believed. Going hungry in the past had taught him that his appetite would wane and he’d feel better, sharper, more alert after the first week, though the guards were all assuming that he was growing weaker and weaker.

He heard the heavy footfalls and the clatter of the metal tray being placed on the small steel table in his isolation cell. Remaining motionless, pretending to be oblivious, he waited through the moments of silence. When the beefy hand nudged his shoulder and then shook him, he was ready for it and didn’t flinch, didn’t react at all.

The guard huffed and said, “You better start eating or we’ll have to force feed you.”

 _Only after striking for a month,_ he thought. _And I’ll be out of here before then._ But he didn’t say anything. Didn’t move.

The footsteps retreated, the door slammed shut and was locked.

Brackett smiled.

They were getting careless, forgetting the regulations that prohibited touching the prisoners largely to ensure the guards stayed safely out of reach. They’d decided he wasn’t a threat.

They were wrong.

He knew the shift rotations, knew which guard most closely matched his build and coloring. He’d begun the hunger strike two weeks before in anticipation of Tremayne being on this shift, this week. The waiting was tedious, but he was a patient man. Tremayne was still a bit wary, still hesitating to take that step closer, but … in another few days?

Brackett inhaled deeply and let the air out slowly as he once more went over the details of his plan in his mind.

In three, maybe four days, when Tremayne came to collect the untouched tray at the end of his shift and reached out to shake Brackett to see if he was conscious or maybe even dead, Lee was going to take him out. Changing clothing would take less than two minutes. Tremayne, cold, dead and naked, would be under the blanket on the cot, facing the wall, and nobody on the night shift would be entering the cell until the next morning, when breakfast was brought in. Lee would carry the dinner tray out, his head down and the brim of the cap obscuring his face from those who watched the monitors of the security cams in the corridor.

And then he’d walk out at the end of the evening shift – the shift when everyone was tired and anxious to get home. When no one would pay attention to a guard who was trailing behind everyone else by a minute or so.

He’d tip the brim of his cap in a mocking salute as he sailed by the sentries and, once outside, he’d use the electronic key to the flashy new car – that Tremayne had been bragging about for the past month – to unlock the vehicle from a distance, and thereby identify the wheels that would facilitate his escape.

He’d head straight to the bus station, to get the duffel bag he’d stashed years ago in a locker. If the key to the locker wasn’t still taped under one of the filthy benches that were never cleaned or replaced, it would be a simple matter to force it open. Amongst other things in the duffel, there were clothes, fake credit cards to which he could charge flights, hotel accommodations, and rental cars … and weapons, including a sniper rifle. After that, he’d hit the closest bank machine to get some cash from one of his secret accounts

Within two hours, he could be on a red-eye to Cascade, Washington.

And the next morning, while standing at his balcony windows and sipping his morning coffee, Detective James Ellison would die.

After that, with Ellison out of the way, it would be child’s play to stalk Sandburg’s mother and blow her away.

And then it would be the goody two-shoes, pretty-boy genius’ turn to face the executioner. _Be a mercy, really,_ Brackett smirked, _to end the guilt he’ll feel about the deaths of his mother and his precious sentinel._

Maybourne would die for reneging on their deal.

He’d considered taking out Sergeant Wolseley, who had manhandled him out of Ellison’s apartment, but the grunt was only following orders. Besides, it was good business to leave one standing, one who knew why the rest had died and could tell the tale so that others would know Lee Brackett wasn’t a man to be messed with.

After all the dues were paid, it would be a clear run to place of hot sun and sand, lush palm trees and willing women.

Well satisfied with the elegant simplicity of his plan, pleased to know the preparation phase was nearly over, Brackett relaxed and slipped into sleep.

**

During the lunch break on Monday, Blair hiked into town and ordered a massive bouquet of roses. On the card, he wrote, “You write the best love letters … and you’re the best friend and the best lover in the whole world.” Regretfully conscious that he couldn’t use his name, Blair added, “I am yours, always and forever, until the end of time.”

**

When Jim got home from work Tuesday night, he found a huge floral bouquet wrapped in crinkly, clear plastic on his doorstep. Puzzled as to who would send him such a tribute, he carried the roses inside and ripped off the paper to get to the card. After reading it, he looked again at the roses and belatedly remembered the card he’d chosen to express what he hoped had been at least a bit romantic and he couldn’t help laughing. Leaning forward, he inhaled the fragrance deeply – and sneezed. Laughing even harder, he backed away, and read the card again. He sneezed again and, swiping at his nose and eyes, he thought with fond amusement, _Ah, Chief, you slay me. You really do._

But as he read the last line again, his laughter died. Reaching out to caress a velvety petal, he sighed so softly no one but another sentinel could hear, “I miss you, buddy. Miss you something awful.”

After he filled a jug with water and put the roses in it, he took a beer from the fridge and went to stand by the balcony windows. _Less than two weeks,_ he thought, and took a sip. _After that, I may never let you out of my sight again. Hell, I might chain you to the bed and throw away the key._ His gaze roaming the horizon, he entertained himself with visions of that, and how his feisty partner would react to such a show of dominance – probably punch him out.

He thought about the call from his father, and the offers of help William and Naomi had made. Frowning, he rubbed the back of his neck. He was sorely tempted to blow things wide open, splash the truth in headlines across the nation … but Blair would skin him alive. Chewing on his lip, he decided the first thing was to get Blair out of there. After that, they could all sit down, talk about their options and decide what to do to either diffuse or avoid the threat that Maybourne and Brackett would continue to pose.

His throat tightened and he cursed softly. God, he hated this waiting. Hated not being able to just fix the mess and make it all go away.

**

Joel was having a tough time containing his curiousity. Three days had passed since Jim had lit out of the office like his tail was on fire and his conversation with Simon had led to an irrational but inescapable hope that Blair was, just maybe, still alive.

But that begged the question of where the young man was, and why he’d not come forward to quell the assumptions about his death. Frowning, Joel thought back to the memorial service. There was no question in his mind that, at that point at least, Jim, Simon and Blair’s mother had all, very definitely, been grieving. So, if there was new information, it had come to light after that. Joel had hoped that he might get some answers the following day, but Jim had come into work looking like he hadn’t slept a wink, and Simon hadn’t been much better.

Since then, Jim and Simon were frequently ensconced in the inner office, but not to discuss any case that Joel knew about. And Jim was increasingly antsy and irritable, pallid with worry. Not to say Jim wasn’t doing his job. He’d worked with Joel and Megan in solving an arms trafficking case just that morning. But he hadn’t used his senses, not once … he’d muttered something about them being unreliable recently.

Megan had given him a stricken look of sorrowed grief and nodded, telling Joel in an aside that Jim’s senses acted up whenever he was emotionally upset. Well, Joel figured, whatever was going on, the man had reason to be emotionally over-wrought.

Joel went back to pondering the mystery that had Simon so tight-lipped. He was certain it must have something to do with Blair. Could it be that they had a lead on who had run the kid’s car off the road? But no, there’d be no reason to be so secretive about that. Simon had been emphatic in his direction that Joel wasn’t to do any speculating, but he’d indicated that good news might be in the offing. Probing his cheek with his tongue, Joel shook his head. Nothing made much sense, unless Blair had been kidnapped and his life was still in danger. But who would have kidnapped him and why? Given that Simon didn’t want anyone going off half-cocked on the idea that Blair might not be dead, Joel figured his friend was afraid they were being watched to be sure no one suspected the truth. All very cloak and danger – and extremely frustrating.

Could it have something to do with Jim’s senses? If so, why hadn’t it been Jim who was taken?

Pushing himself to his feet, Joel decided it couldn’t hurt to do a little probing. Whatever was going on, surely there was some way he and the others could help. He ambled to Jim’s desk and said, “I’m going to get some coffee. You want some?”

“Uh, no, thanks, I’m fine,” Jim replied, sounding as distracted as he always seemed to be these days.

“Okay,” Joel replied and then, affecting a casual manner, asked, “By the way, did that lead on your missing person case pan out the other day?”

Jim froze, and then lifted his penetrating eyes to Joel’s. “What lead? What case?” he rasped tightly.

“The one that had you racing out of the office last Monday,” Joel replied, and lowered his voice to add, “The case that you and Simon are pretending doesn’t exist. That case.”

Jim’s gaze dropped and he shrugged. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered.

“Uh huh,” Joel grunted. “Well, if you and Simon don’t trust the rest of us, I guess there’s not much we can do about it, is there?”

Again Jim’s eyes flashed up to meet his and, if anything, Ellison looked even more pale and strained. “Joel, you don’t understand.”

“No, that’s right, I don’t,” he agreed flatly. Leaning his hands on the desk between them, he said more gently, “I just want you to know that if I can help at all, you just have to say the word.”

Jim’s gaze flitted away and his jaw tightened. He gave a short, sharp nod. “Thanks,” he said, sounding as if the word came hard. “But … but it’s complicated. And dangerous. To, uh, the missing person.” When Joel didn’t respond, Jim looked back up at him. “I’m sorry. I wish I could say more, but I can’t right now.”

“Okay,” Joel replied solemnly. “Just so you know, the offer stands.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Jim’s mouth. “I appreciate that. And the, uh, missing person will, too. I’m hoping the case will be resolved in a week or so, if we’re lucky.”

Joel straightened and, allowing himself a small, conspiratorial smile as he shot a glance at the desk that would have been assigned to Blair, replied, “Good. If this is the case I think it is, I’ll be mighty glad to get that particular missing person back.”

“Me, too, Joel. Me, too. But we can’t let anything slip – we’re not out of the woods yet.”

“I hear you, man. Don’t worry about that.” Grinning wryly, Joel quipped, “A man can’t let much slip when he doesn’t know anything, now can he?”

Jim snorted and shook his head. “Yeah, right.” When Joel turned away, Jim called softly, “I mean it, Joel. I really appreciate … everything.”

“No sweat, Jim,” he replied with a slow, warm smile. “That’s what friends are for.”

**

The busload of guides arrived mid-morning, once again with Maybourne leading the way to the lodge. Blair, backed by the sentinels, stood on the verandah, all of them eager to see who these guides were.

Maybourne got out of his car and Blair stepped down to meet him.

“Well, here you go. Nineteen medics, as requested, drawn from the various services to match up with your sentinels,” the colonel said with an expansive wave at the military members stepping off the bus and forming up in two lines. “They’ve already been briefed that their mission here is classified.”

“Good, we’re ready for them,” Blair replied.

“When’ll this bunch be done training?” Maybourne asked with a nod toward the sentinels.

“If things work out with the guides, hopefully by the end of next week.”

“That fast?” Maybourne exclaimed in surprise. Rubbing his hands together, he smiled. “That’s better than I’d hoped for. I’ll be back for the, uh, graduation.”

Reining in his antipathy, Blair nodded. “Fine. If there’s any change, I’ll let you know by next Wednesday.”

Maybourne’s smile faded, and he scratched his cheek as he revealed, “I still haven’t been able to track your mother down. Can’t find any trace of her in Tahiti or Italy … in fact, there’s no record of her ever leaving the country. No record of any Herbert Aimes, either. At least, none that match in terms of wealth or foreign properties.”

Blair shrugged. “He might not be an American. Like I told you the other day, my mother goes where she likes, when she likes, and with whom she likes. She’ll turn up.”

“Uh huh,” Maybourne grunted as he studied Blair, suspicion in his eyes. But he evidently decided to let it go, at least for the moment. Turning back to his car, he called over his shoulder, “I’ll see you next week.”

Directing his attention to the new arrivals, Blair introduced himself and welcomed them. “Individual rooms have been prepared for you in the lodge. Please drop off your stuff, change into comfortable clothing and come down to the conference room, where we’ll begin the session in half an hour.”

The newcomers nodded and, with curious looks at him and the sentinels, jogged up the steps and into the hotel.

“Man, they don’t have a clue what they’re in for,” Tony chuckled.

**

Extra chairs had been brought into the conference room and ranged along the walls, to accommodate the sentinels. Blair waved the medics to chairs around the table as they entered the room. He wondered whether they would they work out. Or would they resent the fact that their careers were being hijacked to serve as guides?

Once everyone was settled, he began orienting them to the program.

“I understand from Colonel Maybourne that you’ve been told this assignment is classified.” When heads nodded, he went on, “We’re working on something here that’s never been seen before in the United States or in any other modern military organization in the world.” He waved at the sentinels lining the walls. “These men and women have been genetically blessed with enhanced sensory perception. They can see, hear, smell, taste and touch with far greater acuity than most of us can begin to imagine. This afternoon, we’ll conduct some exercises to give you an idea of what I’m talking about. We call these talented people ‘sentinels’ because their roles are to be out front, conducting riskier scouting or surveillance missions or other work that requires them to be in enemy territory. However, sentinels can’t do their jobs alone. They need someone to give them backup, to help them focus their senses, and to reorient them if they get temporarily lost in one sense or if one or more senses spike unexpectedly. You’ve been enrolled in the program to provide that backup. You’ll go on active duty as sentinel and guide pairs.”

He spent the next half hour on a round of introductions, and sorting the sentinels and guides according to their service environment, matching rangers with rangers, SEALS with SEALS, and so on, but not dictating who would pair with whom. Once the seating arrangements had shifted according to affiliation, he explained, “Over the next few days, you’ll have an opportunity to get to know one another. From my perspective, it’s preferable if the final matching is done by you guys, based on who you’re most comfortable working with. However, if that doesn’t work out, I’ll assign the final pairings. In the meantime, I’ve prepared some material for you to go over together in small work groups this afternoon. Sentinels, I’ll expect you to give demonstrations to your guide group members, so they are familiar with what you can do. Guides, I’ll be working with you both in the small groups and as individuals to answer whatever questions you have and to demonstrate how to assist your sentinels.”

He passed out the briefing books he’d developed for their ongoing reference. “I know this must all sound very confusing for those of you who have just arrived. And I know you must have a ton of questions. But I’d like to take this a step at a time. Believe me, all this will make a whole lot more sense once you’ve seen what the sentinels can do, and what their vulnerabilities are. One other thing. We don’t use or refer to rank here because rank has no place between sentinel and guide. Regardless of whether the military sees one of you as superior to the other, the fact is you are equal partners in a shared undertaking. You must work as a team – one cannot order the other’s actions. I’m not exaggerating when I say that your lives will depend upon how well you work together.”

He paused and lifted his hands. “Like I say, this has never been done before so we’re breaking new ground as we go. You’ve been chosen to be guides purely on the basis of being medics from the service branches that mirror the sentinels. I requested medics because I think guides have to have certain characteristics in common with medics. You need to be observant of the wellbeing of the sentinel, and given the tricky situations you’ll no doubt get into, you’ll probably have to patch your sentinel up every once in a while. You need to have basic military skills, be able to handle yourselves in combat situations, but you will be, for the most part, a non-combatant when in action except when you are protecting your sentinel. Your attention has to be primarily on the sentinel, while the sentinel’s attention is on completing the mission. You’ll need to be patient, because sentinels can be irritable when their senses are out of whack, and they are almost pathologically task-oriented. You need to have good communication skills and a degree of intuitive insight, to be able to ‘diagnose’ problems your sentinels will encounter with their senses. And you need to be people who won’t take a lot of crap but will stand your ground when you’re counseling a sentinel for their own good. Much of your work will involve voice tone and touch, offering reassurance to your sentinel and grounding him or her, helping the sentinel to focus.”

Again he paused as he looked around the room at the new ‘guides’, and he regretted their expressions of confusion and disquiet. Lowering his voice, he said, “I know all this sounds very strange but I think you’ll find it exciting, once you get into the swing of things. You’re about to launch into the adventure of your lives. And, yeah, the work will be dangerous, or at least undertaken in dangerous circumstances, but that will be no different from being a part of any other military operation. I do have to warn you, though, that you’ll have no privacy around your sentinel. Your heart rate will be monitored, your respirations. They will know where you are at all times and be able to hear whatever you’re saying, even when you whisper. They can hear both sides of a phone conversation. The sentinels have been taught how to lower their ability to hear, to bring it within normal ranges, but you may have to remind them from time to time to give you some privacy. They don’t ‘listen in’ out of rude curiousity. They listen in because they are attuned to their guides and … well, sentinels can be very protective of their guides. Just as I hope you will be protective of them.”

If anything, the new recruits to the program looked even more uncomfortable, some of them glancing with edgy uncertainty at the men and women sitting against the wall, surrounding them – others looking at Blair as if he was crazy, pure and simple. Conscious of a heaviness in his chest, he rubbed his mouth. Having been coerced himself into the program, he felt a deep aversion to the military expediency of simply assigning these men and women to work that might very well change the rest of their lives. He couldn’t do it. Just couldn’t force them into this. They had to have some say about whether they would accept the role of guides or not.

Heaving a sigh, he held out a hand. “Look, if this is going to work, you have to know that you have the right to refuse this assignment once you have a solid idea of what it entails. Nobody can be forced to care about what happens to a sentinel. Nobody can be forced to be willing to sacrifice themselves to keep that sentinel safe. If, after the next day or so any of you decide that you want no part of this, then be straight with me. Let me know. I’ll arrange to have you transferred to other duty. But,” he paused as his gaze traveled over the sentinels who were also watching him intently, “I hope you’ll want to stay. I hope when you see what these guys can do, how amazing they are, how incredibly special, you’ll want to be part of this. They can’t do what they do alone. They need the right backup. And, well,” he raked his hair back and looked at each of the potential guides, “the need will continue for at least as long as they are in active service. So this isn’t a short term gig. This is about your careers, too.”

Their expressions had sobered, and he could have heard a pin drop in the room. “Okay, I think that’s probably enough to get started with. Spend what’s left of the morning reading through the handbook I’ve given you. After lunch, in the working sessions, feel free to ask whatever questions you have to help you better understand how sentinels function, how they do what they do, and to get a handle on exactly what they can do. Today, we’ll just focus on demonstrations and general information. Tomorrow, we’ll get to work on learning how to pull sentinels out of zones.”

When his comment elicited groans from the sentinels, he grinned. “Yeah, sorry, guys, you’re gonna have to zone on the whole range of senses. But that won’t be as bad as later on, when we have to go through the whole sensory spike thing.”

“You’re a hard man, Professor,” Tony whined playfully. The other sentinels laughed or called, “Amen to that!” which lightened the mood in the conference room. The new guides still looked a little overwhelmed but not nearly so tense.

“Yeah, yeah,” Blair chuckled. “I’m a real tough guy, alright.”

One of the new guides lifted a hand. “Uh, sir –”

“Call me Blair,” he interjected.

“Or Prof or Coach or Teach,” Tony chimed in. “We all do.”

“Uh, okay, Blair,” the sandy-haired man with an abundance of freckles continued, “is this all just theory? I mean, I guess there are sentinels,” he went on with a look around the room, “but are you a sentinel or a guide, or an expert on both?”

“I’m a guide,” Blair replied, feeling a tug on his heart.

“Then where’s your sentinel? Or can sentinels eventually work alone?”

“No, they can’t work alone. My sentinel … my sentinel is being supported by others while I’m here,” he said, keeping it simple and true.

“Aren’t you the man I saw on the news a few months back?” another asked. “You said the paper you wrote about a sentinel for your doctorate wasn’t true. Was that news conference a lie?”

The sentinels in the room tensed. Blair bit his lip and then answered, “In this training center, we have a principle of confidentiality because, well, because the existence of sentinels in our society and within the ranks of our military is secret. What happens here, the exact nature of the sentinels’ talents and vulnerabilities, remains here. From a similar perspective, I am committed to safeguarding the privacy of my sentinel, so I’m not prepared to discuss that news conference or the paper that was released without my approval. Suffice to say, I’ve worked with a sentinel for the past several years and the lessons I’m sharing with all of you were hard won, mostly through trial and error. Good enough?”

“Yeah, I think I understand what you’re saying. The press conference was a lie, but nobody is supposed to know that.”

Blair glanced at the clock on the wall. “Okay, well, you need some time to skim through the handbook to get an idea of what’s there and what this guide thing is all about. You can read here or in your rooms or outside, up to you. Lunch will be in the dining room in an hour.”

**

Walking back to his cabin with Josh, Marcus said, “Listening to that guide’s questions back there gave me an idea about how to fix things for Blair with Maybourne. Got a few minutes to talk about it?”

“Hell, yes,” Josh agreed as he followed Marcus inside.

They’d barely gotten into the cabin when Tony poked his head in. “Care to share with the rest of us?”

Laughing, Josh chided, “We’re supposed to be learning to turn our hearing down – you know, to respect one another’s privacy?”

Carrie pushed in behind Tony. “Yeah, well, this is something that concerns all of us. No point in going over it twice.”

“Sure, why not?” Marcus agreed, waving them all inside where they perched on his bed, desk, chairs, or dropped onto the floor.

**

Ever since Jim had left him in the forest, Blair had felt increasingly restless and torn, first because he longed to be with his partner with a yearning that was all-consuming, and then, once he knew his mother had slipped under the radar, because he’d begun to feel hope for the first time since Maybourne had invaded his life. Each day, it was an act of will to remain at the lodge and not hike into town, get on a bus, and go home. But he had to stay for a little while longer; had to do his best for these other sentinels, to make them as ready as he could to face the future with their senses fully online and manageable.

Nor was it only a sense of duty or obligation that held him at the centre. He liked these young men and women, and admired their courage and commitment, their willingness to risk all on behalf of their nation. He’d never spent so much time amongst members of the military before, and hadn’t thought much about the fact that so many pledged to make the ultimate sacrifice, if necessary, to uphold and protect the ideals of liberty and the rights of their fellow citizens, until he’d put names and faces and personalities to the uniforms they wore. There was a part of him that hated knowing they would be going into combat someplace far away and he wouldn’t be there with them, to help keep them safe. Somewhere along the line, despite the circumstances that had brought him to this place, he’d come to think of them all as friends that he valued and would miss.

Sighing, he shook his head. And there were nineteen more brave young people in the conference room whom he didn’t even know yet, but he would be responsible for training them well enough to keep their sentinels, and hopefully themselves, alive.

And he only had eight and a half days left to give them the best he had.

Still, he couldn’t help the smile that snuck over his lips at the thought of seeing Jim again, being with him, when all this was over. At least, he hoped it would be over. Somehow. But thoughts of Maybourne and Brackett intruded, along with the threats they still posed, and his smile twisted into a worried frown.

That afternoon, nineteen highly skeptical medics joined the sentinels in their small groups. As he moved from group to group, Blair couldn’t help but grin as he observed the doubt turn into awed amazement. He gave them an hour to play, and then called them back into the conference room.

“Okay, so now you’ve seen some of what a sentinel can do – but, believe me, that was only a small sample of their talents and abilities. Starting now, we’ll be focusing on the role of the guide, and what you have to learn to do to give your sentinel the help and support he or she needs.”

He began with the simple stuff – voice tone, pitch, volume, and pace – and then he talked about the use of touch. In the days ahead, he told them he’d be introducing them to meditation, breathing exercises, the monitoring of the dials, the ways of bringing a sentinel out of a zone-out, and the care and feeding of sentinels to help them maintain their capacity to perform at the top of their game. Briefly, he alluded to examples to give some idea of the scope of their responsibilities, like watching their diets and being alert to the potentially irritating or downright dangerous hazards that existed from common cleaners, personal hygiene products, medications, types of dust in the air, and so on. Once they’d covered that ground, he’d get into the more complex world of helping the sentinels to anchor one sense with another, and to overcome distractions in their environment that fragmented their concentration and ability to focus.

The new guides listened avidly, frequently posing questions for clarification and eagerly engaging in exercises that helped them know when they were using a ‘guiding’ voice. Throughout the session, they all took copious notes.

Sitting around the edges of the room, the fascinated sentinels were surprised by what they were learning about the role of guides. Even though Blair had applied the techniques with them for the past nearly three weeks, it had all been so subtly done that they’d not really noticed the nuances or complexity of the guide role he’d been playing with them. Not one of them had realized he’d gone so far as to arrange for the food they’d be served, guarding against anything too highly spiced. They’d been too caught up in learning about their own senses and how to manage them to appreciate how deftly they’d been guided every step of the way. For the first time, they looked at the newcomers and realized how important these strangers would be to them and how necessary it was to get to know them and to work well with them.

The afternoon session passed quickly and, when the formal class broke up, the sentinels and guides again fell into their small groups to get to know one another better. Watching them leave, all talking up a storm, their energy and enthusiasm tangible, Blair heaved a sigh of relief. Up until that moment, he hadn’t been sure throwing perfect strangers together would get the results he hoped for. But it was working. It was really working!

**

Very early Friday morning, Blair was awakened from a deep sleep by the shrill and insistent ringing of the phone by the bed. Groaning, he rolled over and grabbed it.

“Hello?” he mumbled.

 _“I need to speak to Captain Josh Makins,”_ the voice demanded urgently. _“It’s an emergency. Have him call this number –”_

“Hold on. I need to get paper and a pen,” Blair said groggily, blinking himself awake. He stumbled from the bed to the desk in the living room and clicked on a lamp to help him see in the predawn half-light. Picking up the extension, he yawned and said, “Okay, shoot.”

Once he’d scribbled the note and promised to get the message to Josh immediately, he went back to his room to pull on jeans and a sweatshirt. He shoved his feet into a pair of sneakers and, snatching up the note, he grumbled his way downstairs and out into the chill morning air. Shivering, he jogged to Josh’s cabin and knocked on the door.

Josh, his hair disheveled and garbed only in pajama bottoms, came to the door. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Got an urgent message for you,” Blair told him and handed him the note. “You can use the phone in the office.”

Josh took one look at the number and pushed past Blair, racing up the graveled path in his bare feet, seemingly oblivious to the cold. Blair gaped at him and then, assuming it was a family matter and worried about what bad news the sentinel was about to get, hurried after him.

By the time he followed Josh into the office, the other man was identifying himself to whomever was on the other end of the line.

“Jesus, gone? And he killed …” the Army Ranger cursed softly. “How long has he …?” Josh frowned heavily and nodded as he listened. “Okay, yeah, I copy. Thanks for letting me know right away. I’ll take care of things at this end.”

Josh hung up and turned to face Blair.

“What is it?” Blair asked in concern. “Is it someone in your family?”

“No,” Josh replied grimly. “That was Ansel. He just got word that Brackett has escaped.”

Blair staggered a step back as if he’d been slugged, and the fear coursing through him made it hard to breathe.

“Easy,” Josh murmured as he guided Blair to a chair. “Ansel just found out. Apparently, Brackett killed his evening guard and walked out in the man’s clothing at the end of the shift.” Josh glanced at his watch. “That was eight hours ago.”

“My God,” Blair gasped, feeling dazed. “Why … why did Ansel call you? Why didn’t he just tell me? And … and what do any of you know about Brackett?”

“You forget how much we can hear,” Josh replied. “We’ve figured out that Maybourne was using Brackett as a threat over you, so Ansel was keeping a watch on him. And he called me because he was afraid if he just told you, you wouldn’t let the rest of us know. You’re not in this alone, Blair. We won’t let him get to you.”

“Me? I’m not worried about me!” Blair exclaimed as he leapt to his feet and reached for the phone.

But Josh laid a staying hand over his. “Ansel didn’t use any name but mine. We don’t know if the phone here is being monitored, so we worked out a kind of code in case we ever needed to use this line. Anyone listening would think I was hearing about an uncle who felt imprisoned in a loveless marriage, killed his cheating spouse and lover, and took off in the lover’s car. But if we use this phone to call Cascade, then it starts to look just a bit suspicious, don’t you think? Do you want Maybourne to know you know? Or that you called Detective Ellison?”

Blair closed his eyes and forced himself to focus his thoughts. “No, no I don’t. But I’ve got to get word to Jim. His life could depend on it.” Raking back his hair with trembling hands, he cursed. “Damn it. Eight hours? Brackett could be anywhere. Do you know if anyone has a cell phone?”

“No, not so far as I know. But calm down, okay? It’s only three in the morning in Cascade,” Josh said. “Even if Brackett got a night flight, he won’t land for a couple hours yet.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I’ll go into town. Call from a pay phone.”

“No, you’re not going anywhere, Blair. Brackett might have headed here – he could be close,” Josh objected firmly. When Blair opened his mouth to argue, Josh cut in, “No, Professor. You think Ellison would want you running around in the open with Brackett on the loose? Nuh, uh. I’ll get dressed and we’ll get Marcus and Tony to get everyone organized. I’ll go into town and call Ellison. Give me the number.”

“But,” Blair began.

“No. Listen to me, Blair,” Josh ordered briskly. “This is what we’re good at. Let us do our jobs.”

Shivering from more than the cold, Blair looked away. “This isn’t your fight,” he protested.

“Bullshit,” Josh retorted. “You’re the only one who can ensure we’re ready to go back into combat. We will not risk you.” His voice softened as he went on, “And you know damned well that Jim would want us to play it this way.”

Blair met the steady gaze and nodded. “Yeah, he would. But Brackett won’t come here first. He’ll save me for last – he told me he’d go after Jim and my Mom first.”

“Maybe so,” Josh argued. “But he might equally decide that if he snatched you, he could use you for bait to draw Jim and your mother to him.”

Blair found he had no answer for that possibility. Wasting no more time, he waved Josh off. “Go get dressed. I’ll bring the number and I’ll get the others up.”

Josh gripped his shoulder briefly, and then ran out of the office.

Blair pulled a pad of paper toward him and grabbed a pen. He wrote out Jim’s police-issued cell number with the hope that even if their home phone was being monitored, the cell would be safe. Then he added both Simon’s home number and the main number for Major Crime. He hurried back to Josh’s cabin and explained that Jim might be on a stakeout, so the other numbers might be needed. If Simon also wasn’t answering, the final number would get to someone who could alert both of them. Breathing hard, he said urgently, “Actually, you probably should talk to Simon even if you do reach Jim. I don’t want Jim trying to handle this on his own.”

“You got it,” Josh replied as he stuffed the numbers and handfuls of coins into his jacket pocket. “Won’t take me more than ten minutes to run into town.” He took off, and Blair went to rouse Marcus.

Within fifteen minutes, the sentinels had established a perimeter and had Blair safely back inside the windowless conference room. For the first time, Blair was aware that they’d all brought personal weapons with them. Maybe only handguns and a plethora of knives, but better than nothing – a whole lot better, when wielded by sentinels with combat training.

Too agitated to sit down, Blair paced in a tight circle at the end of the room. This was a nightmare. A goddamned, fucking nightmare. The nightmare that had haunted him since the whole mess had begun. Sonuvabitch, he’d done everything he’d been told to do, had kept his part of the bargain – Maybourne was supposed to make sure Brackett never got out. Damn. Double damn. Damn it all to hell!

Cold, he rubbed his arms but couldn’t seem to get warm. Realizing his breathing was too shallow, that he was panting, he forced himself to take slower, deeper breaths. Panicking sure in hell wouldn’t do any good. Josh had been right. There was time to alert Jim. And Jim had his mother stashed somewhere safe. Simon would put the airport under surveillance. Maybe they’d catch Brackett as soon as he got off the plane. Maybe it would be that simple.

Lifting his gaze to the ceiling, Blair prayed to every deity he knew and the Universe in general. _Please, please, make it that simple._

**

Jim woke to the insistent ringing of the cell phone beside his bed. Rolling over, he glanced at his watch as he picked it up, expecting it to be dispatch, calling him out on a new case.

 _“Detective Ellison?”_

“Yeah,” he grunted, frowning a little when he couldn’t place the voice. “Who’s this?”

 _“I’m one of the men at the training center.”_

Alarmed, Jim swung his legs over the side of the bed. “What’s happened? Is he okay?”

 _“Yes, sir, he’s fine, but there’s trouble. Is this line secure?”_

“Yeah, I could tell if it wasn’t. Spit it out.”

 _“Okay. I’m Captain Josh Makins, Army Rangers. We’ve just heard that Brackett has escaped. He wanted to warn you himself, but we thought it too risky to let him out of the lodge in case Brackett headed there first.”_

“Good thinking,” Jim approved as he stood, feeling an urgent need to be on his way to Virginia. “I can be there in five or six hours.”

 _“Uh, okay – but we’ve got it covered at this end, sir. We take care of our own and I can promise you, no one is going to hurt him without going through all of us first. Could I suggest your skills might be better employed stopping the bastard and putting him back in jail? Blair thinks Brackett will head there first.”_

Annoyed, frightened for Blair, Jim had to bite back on the inclination to tell this Captain whoever to take his suggestions and go to hell. Instead, he wiped a hand over his face and forced himself to think rationally. He belatedly remembered he might still be under surveillance – though he doubted it – but who knew who might be listening in with a distance microphone? And, reluctantly, he had to admit, the man made sense. Though it chilled him to leave Blair’s safekeeping to others, Blair had told him that their senses were as good as his, and they were all combat trained. Surely, nineteen sentinels would be a match for whatever Brackett might throw at them. Taking a breath, he grudgingly agreed, “You make a good point. Okay, I’ll alert the authorities here. With luck, we’ll apprehend him when he arrives. But you make damned sure he doesn’t get anywhere close, you hear me?”

 _“Loud and clear. We’ll keep him safe. I promise you that. On my life. And the others feel exactly the same way. And not just ‘cause we respect him or because we’re grateful for his help. The ‘Guide’ just isn’t expendable.”_

“Okay.” Jim hesitated and then added, “Tell him … tell him I’ll be careful. No stupid lone wolf tactics. He’ll, uh, he’ll understand. And tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can, once we’ve caught him.”

 _“Will do. Uh, sir, does this mean you’ll call Simon? Blair told me to call him but if you’re –”_

“Yeah, yeah, relax. I’ll call him now,” Jim cut in, and was unable to suppress a smile. Trust Blair to cover the bases. “Like I said, I won’t try to do this on my own. Tell him not to worry so damned much. He’ll get an ulcer or something.”

He heard a low chuckle. _“I’ll tell him, sir. But I’m not sure he’ll pay any attention to me. He’s a guide, right? It’s sorta in his job description to worry when his sentinel is going into battle without him.”_

“Sounds like he’s taught you a lot,” Jim replied fondly, liking this Captain Makins. “Thanks, Captain. I feel better knowing he’s got good backup.” More awake, he thought to ask, “By the way, how did you guys hear about the escape?”

 _“We’ve got a mole inside the colonel’s operation.”_

“Really? You guys are more clued in than I thought.”

 _“Hard to keep secrets from sentinels, right?”_

“Yeah, right. Okay, I’ll get this operation mounted. I’m guessing you don’t want anyone at your end to know you’re engaged, right? So I won’t be able to call you back or keep him posted.”

 _“That’s okay. I’ll call you, if you want, once a day. Where and when would be a good time for you?”_

Chewing his lip, Jim thought about it. “You can call me on this line anytime.”

 _“Good. Oh, and Detective? You should know that we’re working on an idea about how to, uh, deal with the colonel. When all this is sorted out, I know you plan to come back when we’re ready to be deployed back to active duty. You might want to be present for our, uh, graduation. The colonel will be here, and it should all be over then.”_

Intrigued, Jim asked, “Care to share?”

 _“No, not yet, anyway. But we owe Blair, big time. We’re not going to cut out and leave him at risk. Trust me, sir. We’re going to make this right.”_

“He’s right, you know,” Jim said, feeling a surge a pride both in Blair’s judgment and in these unknown sentinels, “you’re good people. Despite the, uh, circumstances, I’m glad you got a chance to work with him. He’s the best.”

 _“Yes, sir, he most definitely is. I’ll call you again tomorrow; keep you posted from this end.”_

“Look forward to hearing from you,” Jim said, meaning it, as he would be on pins and needles until they caught Brackett, worried that maybe the rogue agent would be going after Blair. He disconnected. Rising, he got dressed and went out to his truck to drive around and shake any tails before he called Simon. Damn, but he was beginning to hate not being able to speak freely in the loft. Sighing, he gaze searched the street and the buildings looming around him. There was no sign of surveillance.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

**

Brackett was on the interstate, cruising west. Vastly enjoying his freedom and the pleasure of the coming dawn in the clear sky, he had the radio turned up and the windows rolled down.

After he’d retrieved his gear at the bus station the night before, he’d ducked into the men’s room to change his clothing. He also pulled on a wig of short, curly dark blond hair and inserted small plugs between his upper teeth and jaw to change the shape of his face, widening it and making his eyes seem closer together. Satisfied with the results, he ambled out of the bus station and drove the car to the airport.

But, on the way, he’d thought more about his plan and decided it was, perhaps, a tad too simplistic. And, really, what was the hurry? The authorities would know he was on the run before any plane could land in Cascade the next morning – and that meant, if someone was on their toes and advised the Cascade PD, the airport could be crawling with cops. After all, that’s where he’d been apprehended, so it was reasonable they might think he’d go back for some kind of revenge, not that revenge was his style, not usually anyway. Even now, it wasn’t revenge he wanted so much as to fulfill a promise to himself – this was payback time.

Not to mention, if he flew, he couldn’t take his weapons with him. There was too great a chance that a security sweep of the luggage might find it. Success, he chided himself, rested on not taking too many avoidable chances.

No, it was better if they didn’t know where he was, or where he’d be, or when he’d be there. Keep them guessing.

So he’d ditched the sports car in the airport parking garage, and had rented another in the terminal, using one of his bogus credit cards and driving licenses. And he’d hit the road, secure in the knowledge that there was no way to track him.

So what if it took him days rather than hours to get to Cascade? Once he got there, Ellison would be just as dead.

The other benefit of driving across the country was that, in a few hours, he could stop in the next town and hit the library to do an internet search on Sandburg’s mother. And he’d print out old real estate listings for the sort of place Maybourne would have been looking for a couple months back. Skimming through the printouts would give him something to do when he stopped at night and, in the long run, save him time in finding the woman and, ultimately, good old Blair.

Smiling contentedly, he hummed along with the tune blasting in his sedate and very nondescript sedan, and tapped his fingers in time with the beat on the steering wheel.

**

Blair looked up anxiously when Josh entered the room. “Did you reach him?” he demanded.

“Yes, and he told me to tell you that he won’t go lone wolf. He said he’d call Simon as soon as we hung up.” Smiling gently, he added, “He said he doesn’t want you to get an ulcer and he’ll be here as soon as he’s got Brackett locked up. We agreed that I’d call him every day for an update and to keep him posted on what’s happening here.”

Nodding, Blair rubbed his mouth and sank down on a chair. “Yeah, okay. That’s a good idea. Thanks, Josh.”

“No thanks necessary. You’re the guide, man. It’s our job, and it’s definitely in our best interest to keep you safe – and that includes making sure you aren’t worried about your sentinel.”

Blair gave him a crooked grin. “You guys blow me away, you know that? But if you think I’m not going to worry, you’re nuts.”

Josh laughed. “Okay, guess I can understand that.”

Leaning back against the chair, Blair rubbed his forehead. “Alright,” he sighed. “I guess we’ve done all we can for now. I need to make some changes in what I’d planned for the guide training and you need to establish a roster for patrols.” Waving to a chair, he said, “Sit down. Let’s work out how we’ll handle the next few days.”

Evidently surprised, Josh exclaimed as he sat down, “You’re going to go ahead with the training? I mean, this’s got to have you pretty rattled.”

Wearily, Blair shook his head. “I’ve been hanging around with a sentinel, who is also a detective, for years – this isn’t the first time that, uh, I’ve had to work under pressure or threat, and it’s sure not the first time I’ve been worried sick about him. I’ll deal. The training has to go ahead because you guys need guides who have some clue about what they’re doing – and, frankly, once we’re done here, I don’t plan to hang around, you know?”

“Yeah, we know,” Josh admitted, and looked pleased that Blair was finally opening up and playing it straight with him. “Okay, how many sentinels will you need for demonstration purposes, and when?”

Patiently, Blair began to review the training plan with him, making modifications as he went along to permit several of the sentinels to be placed on a 24/7 shift rotation as sentries. At one point, he asked, “You think I can still do some of this stuff out in the woods? I really want to put the guides in a more open environment, and show them the kind of zoneouts that can happen from things like staring at water too long, or listening too hard to small sounds in the distance. I also want them to learn how to use whatever is at hand to help bring sentinels out of zones. This is important, you know that.”

Josh pondered the matter. “It’s risky to let you outside,” he muttered, very apparently not thrilled with the idea. “But I see what you mean.” Nodding, he allowed, “Okay, you get one sentinel only for those demonstrations. The rest will be deployed to keep the area secure.” Very seriously, he added darkly, “Ellison will skin me alive if I let anything happen to you.”

When Blair snorted in amusement, Josh growled, “Don’t laugh. I’m serious. The only way I kept him from jumping on the first plane here was to assure him that we’d do our job and make sure Brackett didn’t get near you.”

Blair grinned. “Yeah, well, he can be a little over-protective sometimes. Don’t worry about it.”

“No, he’s right,” Josh retorted bluntly. “You’re not a ‘disposable asset’, Blair. Not to him; not to us. Whatever it takes, we’ll keep you safe.” And then he laid out his requirements, which included making Blair promise to never stand in front of any open windows, never go anywhere, even in the lodge, alone, and agree to have a sentinel standing watch in his personal quarters at night until the threat was neutralized.

Grimacing, but grateful Josh was being so careful, Blair agreed, even though he was sure the personal guard was overkill, most especially because he knew – he _knew_ – that he wasn’t the first target. Looking away, he again sent a silent but heartfelt prayer to the powers that be to keep Jim safe.

**

The Cascade PD had the airport staked out before the first flights from the east began to land. It didn’t take Jim long to spot other watchers around the terminal. They weren’t any of the local FBI agents, and they acted like highly trained covert operatives – and he realized that a couple of them looked vaguely familiar; faces he’d only caught glimpses of in crowds, on the street – once in the grocery store – the contact too-fleeting to register. _Maybourne,_ he thought sullenly, pegging them as the NID agents who must have been assigned to keep an eye on him, and were now charged with catching Brackett. _Too little, too late,_ he thought angrily. Instead of watching him, they should have been making sure Brackett stayed locked up.

Midmorning, Simon called him on his cell. _“I just got word that they found the guard’s car abandoned at an airport about an hour from the prison.”_

Jim’s eyes narrowed as he mulled that over. “If he was coming straight here, he should have already landed. I’m sure he didn’t get past me. Maybe he went to LA first, looking for Naomi.”

 _“Could be, or maybe he decided to take a later plane. Hang in there for the rest of the day, just in case.”_

“Will do,” Jim concurred and terminated the call. Pulling on his lip, he tried to put himself in Brackett’s place. “He’s too sharp to come straight in,” he muttered to himself, trying to keep his frustration locked down as he looked around the airport terminal. “He could be anywhere.”

He felt a shiver of foreboding and, once more, he had to fight back the urge to jump on the next plane heading east.

**

Friday dragged by with no sign of Brackett. By three in the afternoon, Jim had had more than enough of cooling his heels in the noisy and smelly airport. A headache throbbed and, despite having turned down his sense of smell, the miasma of perfume, scented deodorants and aftershaves, perspiration, aircraft fuel, and the heavy-duty cleaners the janitors used were making him nauseous. Kids were shouting, whining, asking endless questions of harried parents, disgruntled travelers muttered endless streams of complaints, joyous screams of reuniting friends and family frequently filled the air. Reaching his limit and then some, he strode outside to get some fresh air, and was assaulted by exhaust fumes from the buses and taxis and personal vehicles whisking past or parked waiting for pickups. An overburdened traveler jammed a suitcase into his leg on the way past to grab a taxi, and a distracted mother rammed him with an overflowing baggage cart.

“That’s it,” he growled as he yanked his cell phone from his pocket and punched in the numbers. “Simon, this is a waste of time,” he snapped. “Wherever he is, he’s not here.”

 _“Okay, come on back to the office,”_ Banks agreed. _“The Feds have taken over the case, anyway. I’ve made sure they’ll inform us if they get a lead on him.”_

Jim was skeptical of federal assurances of cooperation, but he didn’t bother expressing his views. Cutting across the lanes of traffic, he jogged into the parking garage to his truck. Just climbing inside and closing the door was a relief. Some of the din was muted, the scents in the vehicle were familiar, soothing, and the shadowed interior was a balm after so many hours under the hot, bright lights inside. His senses were just beginning to relax from full alert status, and he had put his keys into the ignition, when the insistent brill of his cell phone jerked him back to the edge again.

“What?” he demanded, his tone terse and aggrieved.

 _“Whoa, man, is this a bad time? What’s wrong? Have you spotted Brackett?”_

Jim straightened in startled surprise. “Blair?”

 _“Yeah. Josh picked up a cell phone in town, so now we can talk. I should have thought of that sooner, I guess. So, what’s up? You sound wound tighter than a drum.”_

Easing back against the support of the seat, Jim closed his eyes and let the warm, beloved tones wash over him. “Just tired. Been at the airport all day. But he hasn’t shown up. You being careful?”

 _“Everything’s fine, here,”_ Blair assured him. _“Airport? All day? Ouch. How’re the senses?”_

“Better now that I’m talking to you,” Jim told him, as he felt the stress of the day ease away. “Been worried that if he wasn’t here, he might be there.”

 _“I’m pretty sure he won’t come here first. Is Mom –”_

“She’s safe, Chief.”

 _“Maybourne said she went off with a rich, good-looking older dude called Herbie,”_ Blair reported and Jim could almost hear the smile. _“I’m thinking his name might really be Bill.”_

“You’d be thinking right, short stuff,” Jim replied, and found himself grinning just because it felt so good to hear Blair’s voice.

 _“Thanks, Jim. I appreciate you guys looking after her.”_ Jim could hear anxious worry again seep into the rich tones as Blair continued, _“But when Brackett can’t find Naomi, he’ll come after you.”_

Out of habit, Jim’s gaze swept the garage as he debated what to say. His darker side hoped Brackett did come after him, and gave him an excuse to lawfully blow the man away. “I’ll be okay,” he offered, figuring Blair needed reassurance more than hopes for vengeance.

 _“I should be there with you,”_ Blair said, sounding miserable.

“Won’t be long now, Chief,” Jim replied, though he’d spent the greater part of the day fighting the urge to get to Blair. “Just a week. The guides show up?”

 _“Yeah, yeah.”_ The smile was back in his partner’s voice. _“At first, they all thought it sounded too nuts to believe, but now they’re over the top with excitement, trying to learn all they can. I think this is going to work, you know? I hope so. These guys need backup. Speaking of which ….”_

“I hear you,” Jim interjected. “Don’t worry, Simon doesn’t let me out on a case without either Megan or Joel.”

 _“And which of them is with you now, tough guy?”_

Fairly caught, Jim could resist chuckling. “Okay, you got me. I hauled ass out here first thing this morning. Simon was here earlier, and H and Rafe were too, but we’ve given up on hoping Brackett will conveniently walk straight into our arms. I’m heading back downtown now.”

 _“You promised you wouldn’t go all lone wolf, Jim. I’m holding you to that, man. You’ve got to have backup.”_

“Don’t worry – I’m sure Simon will assign me a babysitter for the duration. I’ll be fine, Chief. And I want to get this guy. Want that bad,” he said, some of the anger he felt at the way Blair had been frightened and coerced into disappearing edging his voice.

For a moment, Blair didn’t say anything. And then, _“Just don’t take any stupid chances. Brackett … Brackett knows how to evade your senses. He’s not the usual bad guy, you know.”_

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll be careful.” Pulling his notebook out of his inside jacket pocket, along with a pen, he asked, “What’s your number, Chief? I’ll keep you posted on what’s going on at this end. And you check in with me on a regular basis, too.”

He jotted down the number Blair gave him. “Okay, got it. I’ll call you later tonight. But, uh, I think the loft is still under surveillance by NID, so I won’t be able to say much.”

 _“I understand. It’ll just be good to hear your voice,”_ Blair said, his tone soft, and Jim smiled a little at the way Blair’s thoughts were mirroring his own.

“Yours, too, Chief.” He paused, not wanting the conversation to end. “Oh, hey, by the way, I got the roses,” he said with remembered laughter. “Nice, Chief. I’ve been sneezing ever since.”

Blair chuckled. _“I love the cards, man. I …”_ his voice caught and he cleared his throat. _“Really love them. Thanks for writing them, and thanks for bringing them.”_

Jim’s throat tightened with the pleasure of knowing he’d pleased Blair; that he’d managed to say the right things. “Good,” he murmured and sighed. “I miss you, Blair. Next Friday can’t come soon enough.”

 _“Jim, what are we going to do then? Have you talked to Jack?”_

“Yeah, I have. And Dad and Naomi have some ideas, too. We’ll work this out, Sandburg, one way or another. But, regardless, you’re coming with me next week. Got it?”

 _“No argument here, Jim,”_ Blair assured him. _“I may never let you out of my sight again.”_

“My thoughts exactly,” Jim concurred, again struck by how closely Blair’s thoughts resonated with his own. “Well, I guess I’d better get back to work. Talk to you later, Chief.”

 _“Later, man. Love you.”_

“Me, too, Blair. Me, too.”

**

Saturday, Sunday, and Monday came and went. The FBI was also looking for Brackett and, now that he knew who to watch for, Jim spotted the NID agents from time to time. Sometimes, with no little disgust, he felt like he was leading a parade of federal agents who seemed to think the best way of finding Brackett was to tail him. In addition to the federal attention, Simon had assigned Joel to be with him during the day, and had arranged patrols to maintain surveillance on the street when he was home. Far from being grateful for the protection, he was afraid they’d all only scare Brackett off, make him go underground until things cooled off – or worse, give up and go after Blair.

The only thing that kept Jim from losing his grip on his frustration was that he and Blair were now able to talk directly, at least once a day and usually, more than once, a lot more than once. As a minimum, Blair called him every morning before Jim went to work, and Jim called him each night before going to bed. So he knew the training of the guides was proceeding, and he had detailed information on how carefully the sentinels were protecting Blair – which was all that let him sleep at night.

Tuesday night, they again exchanged nil reports on any Brackett sightings, and Jim was at least relieved that Blair didn’t seem to be the primary target. If he was, Brackett wouldn’t be taking this much time to show up.

“I don’t know – maybe he decided to just get the hell out of the country,” Jim said, wishing he could believe that were true.

Blair didn’t say anything for so long that Jim prompted, “You still there?”

 _“Yeah, I was just thinking about him yelling his threats as he was being hauled out of the loft,”_ Blair muttered, sounding distinctly uneasy. _“I think he meant what he said.”_ He paused again and then said with fervent urgency, _“Be careful, Jim. Please. Don’t let your guard down.”_

“I won’t,” Jim reassured him, and worried about how fast Blair’s heart was beating and how tightly his partner was wound. They needed to talk about something else. Something better than this goddamned waiting. “Your schedule on track? You still planning to finish up by Friday?”

 _“Oh, yeah, count on it,”_ Blair assured him. _“They’re doing really great, Jim. Both the sentinels and the guides. Most have formed up into pairs already – it’s all going so much better than I ever thought it would. There was only one that was clearly not working out, and I’ve already brought in the replacement, a guy named Ansel who … well, it’s a long story. Anyway, I think he’ll do fine, too.”_

“Yeah, well, they’ve got a great teacher.” He grinned at Blair’s pleased sub-vocal mutter at the compliment. “Looking forward to winding this up,” he said then, deliberately dropping his tone to a different level of intimacy. “Just three more days and this charade is over.”

 _“Yeah,”_ Blair sighed. _“Jim … I … I can’t wait to see you. Be with you. God, I miss you so much.”_

“Me, too,” he replied, longing welling up inside. Clearing his throat, he said, “It’s late. We better call it a night. I’ll see you soon.”

 _“Counting the hours,”_ Blair said, and Jim could hear the yearning in his voice. _“G’night, Jim. I’ll call you in the morning.”_

**

Jim woke early on Wednesday morning. It had been six days since Brackett had escaped and there’d been no trace of the felon. And there were still two days to get through before he could go back for Blair. Antsy and out of sorts, Jim just wanted it all to be over and done. Resigned that there was little he could do but wait for either Brackett to show up or for Friday to come, he went through his morning ritual of putting the coffee on to perk, and then showered, shaved, and got dressed for work. Coming back downstairs, he glanced at his watch and smiled, knowing Blair would be calling soon. He poured a cup and turned toward the balcony … and barely had time to register the sharp splintering of glass and the bullet racing toward him before his instincts took over and he spun away.

Too late.

He felt a massive burst of pain and then nothing.

**

Blair frowned at the prolonged ringing at the other end of the line, and then his throat went desert dry. Jim should have answered. Why wasn’t he answering?

His hands shaking with trepidation, he cut the connection and punched in Simon’s number. “Simon, it’s Blair. Jim’s not answering his cell phone.”

 _“Maybe he’s still in the shower,”_ Simon responded irritably, sounding as if he was barely awake. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Give me a break,” Blair snapped, fear making him angry. “I always call at this time, and he knows that. Simon, something’s wrong.”

 _“Okay, okay, sorry. You’re right,”_ Simon replied, concern seeping into his voice. _“I’ve got uniforms posted outside the loft. I’ll get them to check and call you back as soon as I know what’s going on.”_

“Thanks, man.”

 _“And, Blair? It’s damned good to hear your voice,”_ Simon said just before he terminated the call.

Blair closed the connection and, oblivious to Marcus, who had pulled guard duty and was watching him with concern, stood motionless, willing it to ring. Seconds dragged past, and then minutes. “Oh, God,” he stammered, “something’s wrong. Something’s really wrong.”

“Give the cops time to get up to the apartment,” Marcus counseled, his voice low and supportive.

But Blair shook his head. “It’s taking too long.” He shivered and, crossing his arms to keep from flying apart, bowed his head. Closing his eyes, he prayed, prayed hard.

Finally, finally, the cell brilled and he snapped it open. “Simon? What’s happened to him?” he shouted. When he didn’t get an immediate response, he yelled, “Simon, damn it, tell me. Is he alright?”

 _“I’m sorry, Blair. Jim’s been shot. I don’t know how bad. An ambulance has been called. I’m on my way to the hospital. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”_

“Don’t give me that – you must have some idea! What did the cops on site say?” he demanded, quaking with terror.

 _“I couldn’t get through to them directly,”_ Simon replied with evident reluctance. _“All I know is what I got from Dispatch and they didn’t have much.”_

“Bullshit. Tell me, dammit!”

There was a long pause, and then, _“It was a headshot.”_

“Oh my God,” Blair gasped.

 _“Blair! We don’t know how bad it is. Maybe not as bad as it sounds. Keep it together. I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you within the hour.”_

Stunned, horrified, Blair couldn’t breathe. He’d guessed that something was wrong, but he hadn’t imagined, hadn’t really thought … the phone slipped out of his nerveless fingers and fell to the floor. “No, no,” he moaned. And then, consumed with impotent rage and grief, he grabbed the nearest object, a lamp, and threw it against the wall, shattering the porcelain base. “NO!” he screamed in denial. “NOOOOO!”

Marcus grabbed him, but he fought free with furious violence. “Brackett got him,” he yelled, nearly incoherent with overpowering grief. “Jim’s … Oh, God, oh, God.”

His knees buckled, but Marcus caught him and eased him down, and held him, while he shuddered and choked on the sob that was strangling him.

**

Brackett felt nothing but a remote sense of satisfaction as he drove toward the airport. One down, and three more to go. Unfortunately, though, it seemed Naomi Sandburg wasn’t home. He’d called her number at different times over the preceding three days, but had gotten no response. Unwilling to go to Los Angeles and hang around for who knew how long until she showed up, he decided to go after Sandburg. Hell, he’d just tell the man that his mother was dead – how would he know any different? The impact would be the same. The holier-than-thou Sandburg would die believing he was responsible for the deaths of his sentinel and his mother.

With a thin smile, Brackett decided to call him and tell him that they were both dead. Make him suffer for a while before being granted a merciful death. Eager to deal the blow, he scanned the street as he drove, looking for a phone booth.

**

Feeling queasy, Simon rubbed his mouth as he listened to the doctor and stood, looking down at the bloody visage of his best friend who lay so still on the gurney. When the physician stopped talking, he nodded. “Yeah, I understand,” he said. Taking a breath, he added grimly, “I have to make some calls before you move him.”

Striding out of the treatment room, he headed for the bank of phones in the lobby. But then he paused and stared at the floor, thinking it through. Having made the hit, Brackett would again be on the move, and the bastard would be listening for confirmation. Hell, he might even be here, at the hospital, in some disguise or other, watching and waiting to make certain he’d been successful.

Simon pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He knew he couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.

Naomi was in the clear. There was no way Brackett could know that she was hidden away at Jim’s father’s cabin. Odds were, the assassin would move on Blair when he couldn’t find Naomi. Simon bit his lip as he looked up at the clock and then around the waiting area which was filled with people, many of them with their heads bowed or turned away, too many of them close enough to the phones to hear what was said. But he’d promised to call within the hour, and more time than that had already passed while he’d waited to see the doctor … and Jim. Once again, he scanned the crowded room. Could any of them be Brackett?

Sighing, hating what he had to do, he strode to the bank of phones.

“Blair? Blair, I’m sorry …” he said, but found he couldn’t go further. Closing his eyes, he listened to the strangled moan and shook his head. Someone else came on the line and he said, “Look, whoever you are, you take damned good care of him. Don’t leave him alone. He’s in serious danger. I’ll call again in an hour or so.”

Hanging up, he returned to the treatment room. He needed to make the necessary arrangements before he called William Ellison, and then the media, to give a statement about the untimely and tragic death of Detective James Ellison.

**

Blair felt dead inside. Icy cold and dead.

His mind rattled on about how it was all his fault, that it would never have happened if he hadn’t obstructed Brackett’s plans for a quick getaway. That it was all over, everything, over.

But he was only distantly aware of his thoughts.

Jim was dead.

Nothing else mattered or would ever matter again.

In a fragmented, disoriented way, he wondered why he couldn’t cry, why he wasn’t sobbing with grief. Like Jim had cried that morning. Seemed a long time ago and, yet, only yesterday. He knew the sentinels and guides were all around him, some were talking to him, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. Someone pressed a hot mug into his hands, and then raised his hands to his mouth. Scarcely aware, he drank, but he didn’t taste anything. But he kept swallowing until the cup was empty, or at least until it was gone and his hands were again empty.

He drew a shuddering breath, and was surprised to realize he could breathe. Why wasn’t he dead? What was the point of breathing? He blinked and frowned. There must be some point. Confused, he looked around and registered the men and women watching him with deep sorrow on their faces.

Oh, yeah. He had to finish training the guides. They weren’t ready yet. Two more days and then it would be Friday, and Maybourne would come and they’d all be taken away in a bus.

And then he could stop breathing. And he could be with Jim.

Swallowing, he cleared his throat and said hollowly, “It’s time to get back to work.”

“Ah, Blair,” Josh objected. “Come on. You need some time. We know that.”

But he shook his head. Every second, every minute that he continued to breathe had to have some purpose or there was no point. “No, no … no time to waste. No more time … to waste.”

For a moment, he thought he might be feeling something. Might even cry with helpless, hideous grief. But the moment passed and he exhaled slowly. Yep. Still breathing.

 _Jim_ …, his heart cried out, but he wouldn’t listen, couldn’t. Couldn’t think about Jim, not yet. He wasn’t finished here yet. And he had to finish or … or Jim would have died for nothing. Nothing. Because he should have gone with him. Should never have left him. Should have … should have ….

The wretched numbness shattered and the brutal impact of reality drove him to his knees. The pain was a ravening beast, clawing him apart from the inside. Doubling over, he gasped for breath as the sob built and built in his chest, suffocating him … until it broke free. Then he couldn’t seem to stop sobbing, couldn’t … couldn’t ….

Somewhere, a phone rang and rang, until finally someone answered it. “You bastard!” someone shouted in fury. “We’ll take you apart.”

Rocking with mindless grief, Blair wished they’d all just go away and leave him alone.

“Brackett said he killed them both,” a voice growled with low, deadly rage.

 _Both? But no, that wasn’t possible. Naomi was safe … wasn’t she? That … that couldn’t be right. Too much. Way too much. Couldn’t deal. Couldn’t … just couldn’t …._

Everything spun away, out of control, and darkness swirled around him. Desperate for oblivion, unable to bear the pain, fervently wishing he was dead, he craved the darkness, longed for it, and clutched it close.

Far, far away, the phone was once again ringing.

To him, it sounded like a death knell.

 _God, why won’t they leave me alone?_ Blair thought despairingly as Josh and Marcus urged him back to awareness. _What? Simon? On the phone?_ Numbly, lacking the energy to fight or care one way or the other, he allowed them to pull him upright and took the cell phone they pressed into his hand. Slumping in the chair they put him in, closing his eyes, he lifted the phone to his ear and sighed, “Yeah, Simon, it’s me.”

He listened and then stiffened. “Oh, God,” he gasped. Holding himself perfectly still, afraid to move in case everything shattered again, he stared straight ahead and wondered if maybe this was all a dream, an hallucination, wondered what he could believe. Swallowing hard to clear the gargantuan lump that had arisen in his throat, he struggled to inhale but, once more, he seemed to have lost the capacity to breathe. “Yeah, yeah, I’m still here,” he gasped, helpless to stop the tears that flooded his eyes. “I can’t … I can’t … I’ll call you back,” he managed to stammer, shaking like a leaf, before he curled forward and pressed his hand against his mouth to still his quivering lips.

What felt like a very long time later, he eased back in the chair and swiped drying tears from his face with the back of his hands. He sniffed and, embarrassed to have lost it so completely, he looked around at the worried sentinels and guides who surrounded him. “It’s okay,” he assured them, though he felt completely wrung out. “I … it was just the shock, that’s all.” He gave them a shaky smile of reassurance, and got tentative smiles in return. His gaze dropped to the phone that he still clutched in his right hand. “I just need a few minutes. I have to call Simon back. And then … and then we really have to get back to work. We don’t have a lot of time left and Simon’s pretty sure that Brackett will hit here, next. We have to be ready.”

Then, taking a breath to steady himself, his hands trembling, he punched in Simon’s number.

**

By the time Brackett exited the National Airport in D.C., and ambled toward his rental car, it was late afternoon. Too late to get the supplies and gear he’d need. Unconcerned, he drove to a motel and checked in for the night, where he planned his strategy for taking on not one but quite a few sentinels. Idly, he wondered how many Maybourne had managed to find. Or if he’d found any that had all five senses enhanced. Not that it mattered for Lee’s purposes – anyone who could see in the dark or hear a pin drop at a hundred feet was going to be a challenge to get past, even if they weren’t expecting him.

But they would be expecting him. With a shark-like smile, he figured there wasn’t much doubt about that, not after he’d made his call that morning to gloat. Getting past them to reach Sandburg could be quite a challenge – something he welcomed after nearly four years locked in the boredom of his solitary cell. He felt a rush of excited anticipation that was nearly orgasmic.

Stretching out on the bed, hands behind his head, Lee stared at the ceiling and thought about Blair Sandburg and Jim Ellison – one of the strongest and strangest partnerships Lee had ever encountered. When he’d met the two of them, Ellison and Sandburg had already been amazingly tight, even though they hadn’t known each other all that long. He remembered crossing the mined footbridge – the trust between them had been, well, pretty awesome to behold. Even then, it had been clear to him that the kid would do anything, risk anything, for the detective. And they’d spent years together since. Reflecting on the press conference and on Sandburg’s behaviours in the loft that day, Lee decided that the two of them must have grown into a symbiotic relationship. Scratching his cheek, he wondered if they’d become lovers somewhere along the line. Wouldn’t surprise him. Not from what he had read years before about sentinels and their guides.

 _Must’ve just about killed the kid to have to leave his precious sentinel, especially with no explanation, no way of maintaining contact._

Lee frowned at that, wondering if Sandburg had kept quiet about everything. Certainly, Maybourne had made it clear to Sandburg that he wasn’t to tell anyone where he was or what he was doing and, between them, they’d scared the kid shitless that afternoon nearly three months ago. But would Sandburg have stayed that scared? Or, even if he had, would he have been able to hide his fear and his intention to disappear from a sentinel? Shaking his head, Lee didn’t really think so.

On the other hand, if Ellison had known where the kid was, would he have just left him there? Not at all likely. No, no, Ellison would have stopped Sandburg from going, or would have gone after him as soon as he’d figured out where the kid was. Maybe, given that Ellison had been in Cascade that morning and Sandburg was at the school Maybourne had set up in Virginia, Ellison had never found his wayward guide.

Too bad, so sad. And now he never would.

How was Sandburg taking the news that Ellison was dead? Lee’d lay good money that the kid would be a basket-case, even without the news he’d left that morning, that dear old Mom was also toast. No, Blair wouldn’t be giving him any trouble. Would he kill the kid there in the lodge? Or would he take him away, maybe have a little fun before ending the bastard’s misery?

Guess that depended on how easy it would be to get in and out.

Lee scratched his cheek and rolled to sit on the side of the bed. Time to get serious about how to get past a bunch of hypersensitive military types. He’d learned a good deal from watching Ellison work – all lessons he could put into play now.

Getting up, he grabbed the notepad by the phone, and the pen. Moving to the table by the window, he sat down and began making a list of the gear and supplies he’d need.

**

Brackett spent most of the day Thursday obtaining what he’d need to take on and disable a bunch of sentinels: white-noise generators, a dog whistle, a can of pepper spray, a high-powered flashlight, infrared night-sight goggles, a bottle of chloroform and, in a novelty store, a spray can that promised the contents reeked of the essence of skunk. Together with the semi-automatic rifle, the revolver with silencer, and the blowgun with tranquilizer darts he had in his kit bag, he figured he had what he needed.

Then, though he had hours to spare, he drove to within a mile or so of the lodge and parked well out of sight of the road. He was safer there than wandering around killing time and risking being made by the federal agents – and probably those from NID, as well – who were hunting him. Leaning his head back against the seat, he closed his eyes. It was going to be a long night; might as well get some sleep while he waited for darkness to fall.

**

Somehow, despite the raw tension they all felt, Blair worked through the remainder of his program with one sentinel/guide pair after another – while the others stood watch. In an abstract way, he was perversely glad of the looming threat hanging over them. In some respects, the situation mirrored what they’d face in the field: unknown, unpredictable, but expected danger. _Hell of a simulation,_ he thought bleakly.

Finally, it was Thursday afternoon. He’d taught them all he could, and he’d tested them to ensure they’d learned well. They were ready, as ready as he could make them, anyway.

Brackett hadn’t yet made an appearance and Maybourne would be arriving sometime the next morning.

Disgusted, he thought angrily about the fact that Maybourne still hadn’t told him that Brackett was loose.

And the Colonel sure hadn’t bothered to call him about the news report about Jim.

Not that it mattered. Tomorrow, no matter what Maybourne might want or have planned, one way or another, it would all be over. Or, at least, he hoped it would be over. Hoped Brackett would soon make his move. Surely, it would be soon. Any time now.

He cleaned up the conference room, and then the lab. Gathered up all his notes and put them in a box in the office. Too restless to sit, knowing he’d find no comfort in his personal quarters, he paced back and forth in the wide, high-ceilinged lobby and central hall that stretched through the centre of the lodge with entrances both at the front and the back. God, why did time have to go so damned slowly when all you wanted was for it to fly past? For the better part of two days and all of last night, he’d been haunted by the calls from Simon and Brackett. It had been all he could do to stay focused, to not chuck it all in and take the first plane back to Cascade. Jim was …

No, no, he couldn’t think about it or he’d lose it all over again. So he kept pacing and telling himself that soon, soon, it would be over.

The sentinels around him shifted and looked toward the rear entry to the lodge just before the heavy wooden back door creaked as it was opened. He spun around and stared, waiting ….

When they finally walked inside, he let loose the tight reins he’d held on his worry, on his need to be sure, and let all the many layers of guilt he’d felt drop away. A joyous smile lit his face as he launched himself forward – racing toward Jim and throwing his arms around him, holding him tight. “You’re okay! You’re really okay,” he chanted, dizzy with relief. When Simon had called back to tell him the first call had been a ruse, in case Brackett had been nearby, he’d been overcome with relief. But Brackett’s call, and the news reports, had haunted him and he’d been so scared that Simon wasn’t being completely straight with him, that the head wound might be worse than he’d been told. “Oh, man, you’re really, really okay!”

William, Naomi, Simon and the sentinels and guides beamed at the two of them and then, with embarrassed sensitivity, looked away.

Blair reached up to gently touch the thin gauze bandage on the side of Jim’s left temple, and he could see the lines of residual pain around his partner’s eyes and mouth. “Ah, Jim,” he sighed. Fear of what might have been – what he’d thought _had_ been – shivered through him. He punched Jim’s arm, then held on tight to shake Jim as he scolded, “This was too close. Way, way too close. Dammit, I _told_ you to be careful!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jim grunted, brushing his hand away, a gentle smile belying his abrupt words and tone. “I’m fine, Chief. It’s just a scratch.”

“Uh huh,” Blair snorted, unwilling to be placated. “I heard you bled all over the floor like a stuck pig. Not to mention suffered a pretty bad concussion. You should still be in the hospital!”

Jim shot an irritated look at his boss, who shrugged. “Well, that’s what I was told,” Simon said in his own defense. “And you _know_ how Sandburg is,” he went on, whining playfully. “He nagged and nagged until he got it all out of me. Had to tell him the truth. Was better than what he was imagining.”

Rolling his eyes, Jim returned his attention to Blair. “You know head injuries, Sandburg. They always bleed a lot. Don’t sweat it. I’m fine.” Before Blair could say anything more about it, he gestured around. “Say ‘hi’ to Naomi and Dad, and then maybe you could introduce to us to everyone.”

Blair searched his eyes and then, muttering under his breath, “Fine, play the tough guy,” he hugged Jim fiercely again before stepping away to greet his mother and hug her, too. “You shouldn’t have come here,” he chided. But though he meant it and wished she was out of danger, he couldn’t stop smiling. He’d thought he’d never see her again. Had imagined just yesterday that she might be dead. To have her here, to see her so radiant with life, filled him with immense delight. “You and Bill should have stayed far, far away until it’s safe.”

She kissed his cheek, and drew back to cup his face with her hands. “No way, buster,” she said firmly. “Bill and I came because, if necessary, we’re all going to leave together and run as far and as fast as necessary, until you’re safe from those loathsome creatures, Maybourne and Brackett. If it was up to me, we wouldn’t be hanging around here now, waiting for that assassin to show up.” Her tone softened and her eyes glazed, and her voice caught as she said, “I’m so, so glad you’re not dead, baby. So very glad to see you.”

“Me, too, Mom,” he affirmed, again drawing her close. “I’m sorry I had to put you through that.”

She sniffed and straightened. “I’m okay,” she insisted, and sniffed again. Turning to William, she held out her hand. “Bill has been simply wonderful. You know he hid me at the cottage? Have you seen it? You’d love it there.”

“No, I haven’t seen it,” Blair replied, holding onto his smile but unable to keep all trace of wariness out of his voice. He wasn’t at all sure William had any use for him, and no idea of what William thought about him and Jim, if he even knew about them and what they meant to one another.

Taking Naomi’s hand, William gave her a fond look and stepped closer. Turning to Blair, he grinned and said, “I hope you and Jim will come up soon, so you can see the place and make yourself at home there.”

“Uh, sure, I’d like that,” Blair agreed, looking from William to Naomi. Was he seeing what he thought he was seeing? Jim’s father and his mother? He blinked and briefly looked away, not sure he wanted to know. There was too much else going on, too much to deal with. Besides, he was probably imagining things. They were too different; worlds apart in philosophy … had nothing in common, right? Men were always tumbling to Naomi’s charms. It never lasted long before she flitted on to some new interest. But, damn it, this could get messy. His smile faltered, and he fervently hoped his mother wasn’t going to create yet another minefield of contention between him and Jim, or Jim and his family.

As if sensing his trepidation and wanting to reassure him, William’s smile broadened and he reached out to grip Blair’s shoulder. “I hope we can get to know one another a whole lot better, Blair. I owe you … so much. And, well,” he glanced at Jim and then around at the strangers, “you’re family now, right?” Sincerity shone in his face and rang in his voice as he added with anxious and touching solemnity, “I hope, I hope, someday, you might think of me as your father.” He swallowed and then added, “I already think of you as my son.”

Jolted by surprise at the words, Blair felt a surge of gratitude. Whether or not something brewing with Naomi, William evidently did know about him and Jim, and was saying he was okay with it – even better than ‘okay’. Deeply touched, Blair pressed his lips together and nodded. Unable to resist the impulse, he stepped forward and gave William a quick, hard hug. “Thanks, Bill. That … that means a lot, more than I can say.”

“Well, now that we’ve got the family greetings out of the way, could we get down to business?” Simon interjected with sardonic impatience.

“Simon’s right. We’re not out of the woods yet, Chief,” Jim intoned.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Blair agreed, abashed that he’d – however briefly – gotten caught up in personal matters and forgotten the threat that Brackett represented. Turning to Banks, he held his arms out as he approached and said, “Hey, Simon. Good to see you, man. Thanks for being here.” He was very glad when Simon didn’t wave him away but gathered into a hard, if quick, hug.

“It’s good to see you, Blair,” Simon mumbled, sounding as if his throat was full. “Real good.”

Blair slapped him on the back and took a step back. Looking around at the sentinels and guides, he said, “Okay, well, I guess you guys have all figured out who Jim is, and my Mom, Naomi Sandburg. William Ellison is Jim’s father, and Simon Banks is our boss at the Cascade PD – and he’s also our very good friend. Jim served in the Army Rangers and Simon also has military experience.” And then he introduced Josh, and his guide, Mark Reynolds, Tony, and his guide, Suzi Baker, and Carrie, and her guide, Craig Jenkins, to the cohort from Cascade. “The others are all outside or upstairs, keeping watch.”

“No sign of him yet, huh?” Jim confirmed as he crossed the floor and held out his hand to Josh. “You’re the one who called me, right? The one in charge of this operation?”

“Yes, sir. Pleased to meet you in person.”

“Just ‘Jim’, okay?”

“Jim,” Josh acknowledged with a small smile that faded as he went on, “No, there’s been no sign of Brackett and no further calls from him since Wednesday morning.”

“Tell us how you’ve got your assets deployed,” Jim directed, waving Simon over to listen in.

Blair, unable to stop smiling despite the gravity of the situation, walked over to stand with them. Leaning in close, he rested his hand with unconscious possessiveness on Jim’s back.

Josh filled them in and added, “Blair’s told us this guy fights dirty and he’ll probably try to use our senses against us. So he’s been drilling us and our guides on what to do if Brackett tries to blind or deafen us.”

Jim gave Blair a look of approval and ruffled his hair. “Good thinking, Chief,” he commended.

Though Blair pushed Jim’s hand away and mumbled with mock umbrage, “Not the hair, man,” he welcomed the warm glow of happiness that filled him. Gazing up at Jim, lightly gripping his partner’s arm, he marveled again that Jim was there. Was alive and whole, not suffering brain damage or lying in a coma. Wasn’t … _wasn’t_ dead. He thought he might burst from sheer joy and he just could _no_ stop smiling.

**

Once he was assured that everything that could be done was being done to keep the lodge and Blair secure, Jim allowed himself to relax, if only marginally. He’d been champing at the bit to get to his partner ever since he’d awakened in the hospital the day before. When Simon had sided with the doctor and had ordered him to stay in the bed, he’d very nearly erupted in futile rage. What the hell was a concussion when he damned well knew that Brackett would be going after Blair next? But the blinding headache, severe dizziness, and sickening roil of nausea in his belly gave him little choice but to acquiesce to their demands.

He still didn’t feel a hundred percent – far from it – but at least he could stand up without falling on his face, and the headache had retreated to a dull pounding behind his eyes. Absently, he rubbed his forehead, only realizing what he was doing when Blair nudged him and asked quietly, “How’re the dials, man? You look like you’re hurting.”

“Just a headache,” he replied but he closed his eyes briefly to concentrate on the adjustment of his internal controls. Giving Blair a crooked smile of appreciation for the relief he immediately felt, he complained, “You’d think the damned things would stay where I put them, but they slip out of line when I’m not paying attention.”

“Uh, yeah, I know,” Blair said, sounding amused. He looked around the hall and then back at Jim. “There’s nothing for you to do right now, right? You need to lay down for a bit, conserve your energy for later.”

Jim was about to disagree when he looked at Blair and read the evidence of prolonged strain on his partner’s face. “Yeah, you’re right. Getting horizontal would be good,” he replied, and looped an arm around Blair’s shoulders. “Want to show me where your bed is?”

He heard Blair’s breath catch, and saw the hunger burn in his eyes before Blair quickly recovered and chided, “Rest, Jim. I meant you should _rest_.”

“I know. I heard you. Any reason we can’t rest together?” he rejoined.

An impish grin flashed and Blair slid an arm around his waist. “No, no, none that I can think of. C’mon. My place is upstairs.”

God, it was all he could do not to pull Blair into his arms then and there. But he restrained himself until they were in the bedroom, the door closed … and finally, blessedly, alone. The sudden cessation of impinging sounds startled him and, looking around, he spotted the white-noise generator on the bedside table. He’d have to turn it off but … maybe they were entitled to a few moments of privacy first. Drawing Blair into an embrace, he tilted his lover’s head up and kissed him with lingering tenderness. “I missed you, Chief. I … God, I’ve missed you.”

Blair’s fingertips drifted through his hair and caressed his cheek, and he closed his eyes as he leaned into the gossamer touch. He felt Blair’s lips on the corner of his mouth, and then just under his jaw, and damned if his knees didn’t go weak with longing.

After sliding his jacket off, Blair drew him to the bed. When he reached toward the little machine, Blair stayed his hand.

“Leave it,” Blair said. “There’re nineteen other sentinels standing watch, along with Simon. You need some rest. Besides, Brackett’s too smart to come in broad daylight.”

Jim hesitated, but he knew Blair was right. The odds of Brackett showing up before dark were low. His headache was killing him and, if he pushed himself too hard, he’d be no good later. Nodding, he stretched out on the bed, and opened his arms. Blair drew a soft blanket up from the foot of the bed to cover him, and then slipped under it, to lie with him. Curled snugly together, he buried his face in Blair’s hair and inhaled deeply … and felt contented for the first time in what seemed like forever. His hands began to roam, but Blair made a low sound of pained refusal.

“I want to,” Blair groaned, “but you really, really need to rest, man. We’ll have time later. We’ve got a lifetime … later.”

Sighing, Jim resigned himself to having to wait. Satisfying himself with a deep, lingering kiss, he again wrapped himself around Blair and let the feeling of holding his lover secure in his arms soothe him. Closing his eyes, he listened to Blair’s breathing and heartbeat … and his headache retreated. Tension bled from his muscles and he gradually relaxed into sleep.

**

When Jim awoke, it was late in the evening, and dusk was swiftly deepening into night. Easing himself out of Blair’s embrace, Jim stood and stretched. His headache was gone; he felt better than he had since Blair had first disappeared and, thank God, his senses seemed to have settled down. He gazed fondly down at Blair and laid a light hand on his partner’s shoulder, relishing the living warmth he could feel through the shirt, the pulse of blood under the skin. Taking a breath, drinking in Blair’s scent, he straightened and, almost reluctantly, turned off the white-noise generator. As much as he longed to linger in Blair’s company, and keep the world shut away, this wasn’t the time. _Tomorrow,_ he promised himself, _tomorrow, when we’re well away from here … tomorrow …._

With an act of will, Jim forced his thoughts back to the matter at hand. Brackett was still out there and had to be stopped. Cocking his head, counting voices and heartbeats, he quickly placed everyone in and around the lodge and found no intruder. Naomi and his father were together, talking quietly. Noting the tone of their voices, he shook his head and hoped his father knew what he was letting himself in for. Blair’s mother, as appealing as she could be, wasn’t someone _he’d_ trust his heart to. With a mental shrug, he told himself it wasn’t any of his business.

Simon was out on the verandah, smoking a cigar, its rich, pungent scent mingling with pine and earth … and the fragrances of coffee and food drifting up from the dining room, which set Jim’s stomach rumbling.

“You think he’ll show tonight?” Blair asked with a yawn as he sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Jim admitted. “Brackett’s unpredictable. He could still be in L.A., looking for your mother. But he’s got to be getting anxious to finish and get out of the country. It’s been a week since he escaped and, sooner or later, somebody is going to spot him. He knows that. Time isn’t on his side.”

“Maybe he doesn’t even know where we are,” Blair suggested then. He stood and combed his hands through his unruly hair.

“He’s a professional, Chief,” Jim replied, his tone flatly controlled as he battled his urge to run his fingers through that curly mane. “My bet is he’s somewhere close.” When Blair gave him a curious look, he explained, “He was on the move for days before he turned up in Cascade. Plenty of time for him to find out where Maybourne established the school, and to figure out that Naomi hasn’t been home for a while.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Blair rubbed his stomach. “I’m hungry,” he observed, sounding surprised, and Jim wondered how long it had been since his partner had last eaten.

“Me, too,” he said as he waved Blair ahead of him. “Let’s see what’s in the kitchen.”

Downstairs, Blair led the way through the dining room, where Milt was replenishing the buffet with everything from freshly made sandwiches to chunks of cheese, apples, and enticing oatmeal cookies – portable foods that could be eaten quickly and would give fast energy. The heady scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. They called greetings to their parents as they made their way toward the food, and Blair introduced Jim to the cook.

Blair grinned and said, “Well, all this should certainly get us through the night.”

Milt chuckled. “Armies march on their stomachs, Blair. Gotta keep the beast fed.” Scratching his grizzled cheek, he ruminated, “I’ve heard that most progress, you know, exploration of new worlds, the explosion of art or ideas that happens from time to time in the course of history, all comes down to people having more than enough to eat. When they don’t have to work all hours of the day just to feed themselves and their families, they’ve got time for all the other stuff.”

Jim smiled and shook his head as he loaded up his plate and listened to his partner’s enthusiastic rejoinder to the conversational gambit Milt had offered. Catching the older man’s eyes, reading amusement there, he understood that Milt wasn’t as casual as he appeared, but had deliberately dangled the bait to distract Blair from the tension of endless waiting. Deciding he liked the man, he slapped Milt on the shoulder as he passed by on his way to join his father and Naomi.

**

Taking care to stay downwind of the lodge, dressed in black with camouflage paint on his face and a knitted cap pulled low to cover his hair and brow, Lee moved in closer as soon as full night had fallen. Across the road and on a slight rise, he found a sycamore tree that he could easily climb and that would give him a clear line of sight to the building. Getting comfortable in the crook of a limb and the trunk, he kept watch as the first few hours passed, noting two sets of sentries working in pairs and, surprisingly, Simon Banks on the verandah.

 _Interesting,_ he thought when he recognized the police Captain from Cascade. _So maybe Sandburg didn’t keep his deal with Maybourne to keep his mouth shut_. Smiling cynically, Lee thought it was mighty kind of Banks to have come to offer poor little Blair some sympathy and support on the loss of his sentinel. Still, if that was the case, why was the big man still sitting alone outside and not inside, comforting his little buddy? Shrugging, Lee decided the cop had appointed himself chief protector and didn’t trust the sentinels to be able to do the job of keeping watch.

If they were sentinels, and not just highly trained military members with one or two heightened senses.

Chewing on his lip, he wondered about that. Sandburg hadn’t had a whole lot of time to work with the possible sentinels Maybourne had dredged up for the program. As far as he knew, Maybourne had gone hunting amongst those suffering from PTSD; maybe these characters were all basket cases and weren’t really sentinels at all. So maybe they _couldn’t_ be trusted to stand watch. Even if they did have some abilities, could be their senses were more likely to be a burden than an asset. Maybe their skills weren’t as sharp as Ellison’s had been. Any of those possibilities would be good news for him. Still, he couldn’t assume their incompetence; far better to go in expecting trouble and being prepared for it.

The infra-red goggles also helped him track heat sources inside the building, despite the doused lights and the curtained windows. By midnight he knew that – except for another pair inside on the ground floor near the front of the building – most others seemed to have settled in for the night. Why pairs? Had guides been found to work with the sentinels or were the sentinels working in pairs?

Removing the goggles and rubbing his mouth, Lee reviewed his plan for entry, the moves he’d have to make, and how much time it would all take. The sentries had just changed watch and the current ones were fresh. But they’d be tired and not as sharp in the hour or so just before dawn, when the body ached for sleep and the mind was dulled by boredom. As dawn neared, they’d be thinking that he wasn’t going to show and they could relax. That’s when they’d get careless.

Nodding to himself, he decided he was as prepared as he could be given the number of variables in play. Climbing down to the ground, he sat with his back against the tree on the side facing away from the lodge. Crossing his arms, secure in the fact that his internal alarm would wake him when it was time to go into action, he calmly went to sleep.

**

One AM came and went. Jim was sitting with his arm around Blair’s shoulders on one of the sofas of the darkened hall. Though the nap earlier had helped, he was again feeling a low-grade headache from his concussion, and the quiet, the darkness, was making it hard to stay awake and alert. Bill and Naomi had retired more than an hour before, as had Milt. Nursing a cup of coffee, Simon was still maintaining his vigil out on the verandah. All but the two sentinel/guide pairs on duty had also returned to their cabins or beds in the lodge. Blair’s breathing had begun to slow and deepen, and then he jerked, as if catching himself and forcing himself back to wakefulness.

Jim tugged lightly on a curl and suggested, “You should go to bed, Chief.”

Blair, his head resting on Jim’s shoulder, snorted. “Not without you,” he mumbled. Yawning widely, he sat up straighter and scrubbed his face in an obvious effort to wake himself up. Turning to Jim, Blair gestured around and then at Jim’s head as he urged, “Josh and Tony are standing watch and won’t let Brackett get past them. You really should try to sleep, Jim. You’re still recovering from being shot.”

“Scratched, not shot,” Jim corrected as he stretched his arms over his head and then twisted his neck to ease stiff muscles.

“Some scratch,” Blair retorted, then shivered, as if still chilled when he thought about how close it had been. Rubbing his arms, he peered into the stygian darkness of the hall. They’d turned the lights out hours before, so they wouldn’t present any targets to Brackett, who could be watching the place. “Maybe he hasn’t found me yet.”

“And maybe he’s casing the place right now,” Jim returned, unconvinced and certainly not willing to leave the guarding of his guide and lover to others. “I’m not gonna relax until we’re on Dad’s jet and flying far away from here.”

“Fly where?” Blair sighed, sounding discouraged. He gripped Jim’s arm, and his voice was tight with anxiety when he said, “We can’t go back to Cascade. Maybourne would come after us. Hell, he could probably find us anywhere.”

“Uh huh,” Jim grunted and shrugged, not really feeling up to hashing over all the problems that still faced them. But he could see his partner’s mouth set in a stubborn line and knew Blair wasn’t going to let it go. “If there’s no point in running, we might as well just go home,” he ventured. That idea appealed more to him anyway than going on the run. They had to face this thing, end it. “If Maybourne tries to make a stink, we’ll fight back,” he went on, his tone hardening with decision.

“And how, exactly, will we do that, Jim?” Blair challenged, though he kept his voice low as he stood and began pacing in the small space between the heavy coffee table and the sofa. “We can’t go public, and I don’t want to risk him recalling you to active duty – which was one of his threats if I wouldn’t agree to work for him.”

“He hit all the bases, huh?” Jim muttered, angry with Maybourne and the whole damned thing.

“Yeah,” Blair agreed despondently as he sank back down and leaned against the support of the sofa. Throwing up his hands, his tone rough with frustration, he said, “I’ve thought about this a lot, you know? And I still don’t see a way to fix this mess. The only thing I can think of is that I go public with the fact that he kidnapped me or something, forcing me to do this work – but … then I could be putting their lives at risk. Keeping quiet about the sentinel stuff isn’t just about you anymore, you know? Now, it’s also about keeping classified secrets and, and hoping whatever enemy these guys go up against doesn’t find out about their skills or their vulnerabilities.”

Jim rolled his eyes. Once again, Blair was tying himself in knots worrying about everyone else and not himself. Slowly, Jim inhaled deeply and exhaled in an effort to calm himself down. This wasn’t the time to talk about all that … but they were going to talk and damned soon. He was sorely tempted to just shut the discussion down, but he studied his partner’s face, as clear to him in the starlight that filtered through the curtains as if it was broad daylight. The worry he saw there, the anxious despondency, and the guilt that had no place being in those wide, troubled eyes, caught at his heart.

“Easy, Chief,” he offered, as he reached out to cup Blair’s cheek and ran his thumb over the prickly stubble. “I’ve been thinking about it all, too. I figure we have three choices: bluff it out with Maybourne – and hope he doesn’t toss us both in the tank for being security risks; do our own joint press conference where we come clean about me, so he doesn’t have any leverage; or go on the run.” When Blair’s hand lifted in protest, he captured it, and said firmly, “I vote for coming clean.”

“I don’t.”

“Admitting to my senses isn’t a risk to the others, Chief,” Jim encouraged, doing his damnedest to be reasonable. “There’s no reason for anyone to assume there are others.”

“That’s not the point,” Blair argued. “The risks –”

“What about the risks to you? Huh? What about that?” Jim demanded, fast running out of the little patience he had. Swinging around, he gripped Blair’s shoulders. “This isn’t all about me, Blair. It can’t be. It’s taken me a while to get that – too long. Whatever we do has to be the right thing for both of us.”

“So explain to me how either leaving Cascade and the job that’s, that’s what you were born to do, that you _love_ to do, or putting yourself at risk, could possibly be the right thing for you?” Blair shot back, though he kept his voice low, with a glance at the front door, clearly not wanting Simon to hear them fighting. “Hell, even if we stop Brackett, Maybourne could just send another assassin after us. We’d be sitting ducks in Cascade. And where else could we go –”

“Enough, Chief, enough,” Jim returned, the flare of anger dying as quickly as it was born. Lifting his hands, he cupped Blair’s face, forcing him into stillness, and leaned forward to kiss his partner’s brow. “I love you a whole lot more than any damned job, but if it comes to a fight with Maybourne, I’d rather make our stand in Cascade, where we’ve got friends to back us up. And … and I don’t think the risks are as great as the costs you’ve been paying and will continue to pay if I don’t tell the truth.”

“Ah, Jim,” Blair sighed and covered Jim’s hands with his own. “I keep telling you, I don’t care about any of that.”

“Yeah, well, I care,” Jim returned in a tone that he hoped made it crystal clear he wasn’t going to budge. When Blair stiffened in resistance, Jim drew him closer and kissed him, to silence any further argument.

Closing his eyes, a small moan in his throat, Blair surrendered. His arms lifted to embrace Jim tightly, and he deepened the kiss, his hunger and need for Jim achingly apparent.

Jim felt his own desire flash hot and sharp, but he pulled away. Caressing Blair’s cheeks, Jim felt breathless. It was so hard to stop. So very hard. But he had to resist. Had to stay sharp and focused. “Maybe we shouldn’t start what we can’t finish – ‘cause I don’t think I could stop. I … I …”

“I know. Me, too,” Blair whispered, his voice tight with want and need. Heaving a sigh, he settled his head back on Jim’s shoulder and wrapped an arm around his lover’s chest. “And I don’t want to fight about what we do or don’t do, not tonight, anyway. I just want to be with you.”

“Works for me, Chief,” Jim murmured, grateful, as he pressed his lips against Blair’s brow and slipped an arm around his shoulders to draw him closer. “Won’t be much longer,” he promised as his fingers traced patterns on Blair’s arm. “Tomorrow night, wherever we end up going, we’ll have our own room.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Blair agreed, and smiled into the darkness.

**

Just before four AM, Brackett woke and, standing, he stretched to limber stiff muscles. Once more, he climbed the tree for a final reconnaissance. Banks hadn’t moved from the chair by the door, but he was slumped with his chin on his chest, so Lee deduced that he had drifted off to sleep. The pair inside the building on the ground floor weren’t moving, either, so maybe they’d dozed off, too. Funny how closely they were sitting. His gaze narrowed as he thought about that, and then shifted his attention to find the other sentries. The only ones he could see were standing together at the corner of the building but he assumed the other pair was around the back. He’d spot them from the woods on the other side. Two sentries inside, sitting close together. Two standing together, one with a hand touching the other’s back, in the front. Two more together somewhere out back.

 _Yeah,_ he thought, his questions about their abilities answered by what he was observing. _They’re sentinels, and their guides are sticking close, keeping them grounded._

Easing down to the ground, careful to make no sound that would carry in the silence of the night, he hitched his pack over his shoulder. Bending low, he made his way back across the road and into the trees on the other side.

Once he was within sight of the cabin furthest from the lodge, he paused. Though he was still downwind, he couldn’t assume that his adversaries lacked the sensory capacity to scent him as he drew closer. So, he’d have to give them something else to smell, something that wouldn’t seem out of place and would even discourage them from taking a closer whiff. He drew the can of skunk scent from his jacket pocket and, wrinkling his nose, sprayed the essence in the air and then walked through it, letting it settle on his clothing and skin.

Stoically ignoring the stench, he edged closer and moved around the back of the cabin. When he heard the sound of soft snoring inside, Lee smiled with cool amusement. He placed one of the white-noise generators on the windowsill … and then did the same at each cabin, as he moved with the silence of a cat closer and closer to the lodge.

“Ewww,” he heard a woman mutter. “Skunk.”

“Yeah, been smelling it for the past five or so minutes,” another voice murmured, sounding resigned. “Either a skunk, or maybe a coon that got sprayed, back behind the cabins, most likely prowling for food.”

“At least you can turn it down,” the woman griped with an aggrieved whisper.

Moving with stealthy care, Lee drew the blowgun and two darts from the outside pocket of his pack. Easing around the corner, his back flat against the building, he took a quick look to place his targets. Then, dropping to one knee, blowgun to his lips, he blew one dart – the man slapped his neck, staggered into the woman, and crumpled. Before the woman recovered from the surprise in time to call out, he blew another, with an equally effective result.

Moving in a low crouch, careful to avoid the graveled walkway, he crossed the open grass to the back of the lodge heading toward the corner where he’d last seen the sentries covering the front of the building.

Two minutes later, the second set of sentries out of the game, he soundlessly climbed over the rail of the porch and, a cloth soaked with chloroform in one hand and the blowgun in the other, he cautiously approached Banks. A floorboard creaked and he froze.

Banks started at the sound and mumbled, sounding as if he was still more than half asleep. He sniffed and snorted, his hand lifting to cover his mouth and nose, and his head started to lift. Brackett blew a dart and Simon grunted. Moving fast, not trusting the dose on the dart to fully incapacitate such a large man, Brackett came up beside him and clamped the cloth over his face while holding Banks in a headlock. Simon struggled sluggishly for a few seconds and then sagged in Brackett’s grip. Lee patted his face approvingly and then stepped to the door.

**

Jim grimaced at the stink and jerked awake. Not at all happy about having fallen asleep, vaguely thinking he’d heard something, he reflexively scanned the hall and stretched out his hearing. Something wasn’t right. His muscles tensing, he eased away from Blair and drew his weapon from his holster. Cocking his head, he listened more intently, and realized that the sentries and Simon sounded like they were all sleeping, their breathing slow and deep. That was odd. He wouldn’t have expected soldiers to fall asleep on duty.

And then, with a start of alarm, he realized he couldn’t hear anything at all from the cabins.

Placing a hand over Blair’s mouth, he bent down. “Blair! Wake up!” he urged, careful to keep his voice low.

Blair started awake, his eyes wide with alarm.

Jim pressed a finger to Blair’s lips to emphasize the need for silence before pressing Blair down to the floor.

Again he looked around the large room. Damn, the stench from that skunk was annoying. Smelled like it was right outside on the porch.

And moving to the front door! Shit! Brackett!

Using the sofa as a partial shield, he dropped to one knee and leveled his weapon at the door.

“Jim?”

“Shh!”

He felt Blair’s hand on his back, steadying him.

The well-oiled front door opened with eerie slow silence and a shadow slipped inside. Anger coiled in Jim’s gut when he recognized the features under the knitted cap, and he spotted a silenced automatic revolver in one hand.

“Brackett! Freeze!” he ordered, as cold and hard and steel. “Drop your weapon.”

A bright light split the darkness, flashing directly into his eyes and blinding him instantly. He’d just ducked when a high-pitched shrill squeal pierced his ears, the pain so sharp and excruciating that he dropped his weapon and doubled over. Pressing his hands to his ears, his eyes tightly shut and panting hard, he nearly passed out from the agony ripping through his head.

“JIM!” Blair yelped, leaping at him and knocking him down behind the sofa. As he fell, he felt a sudden burn across his cheek that sent his senses spiraling further out of control.

“Jim?” Brackett echoed, sounding surprised. He spit out the dog whistle he’d looped on a chain around his neck and glided across the floor. Standing behind the sofa, he shone the flashlight down on the two men sprawled on the ground and chuckled, “And here I thought you were already dead.”

Barely conscious, Jim rubbed his irritated eyes to clear away tears caused by the high-powered beam of light, and struggled to hear. Brackett’s voice was so muffled that he sounded both very far away and under water, but the proximity of the blinding light placed him close. He could feel the Blair’s weight leaning on him. Shit, Blair was shielding him from Brackett.

“What have you done to the others?” Blair demanded, his voice so loud that Jim flinched as he struggled with his dials and furiously blinked his streaming eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’m not the monster you think I am,” Lee replied with a laconic shrug. “I don’t kill unless it’s either essential or profitable. They’re just sleeping.”

Still dizzy and nauseous, Jim tried to shift, to lever Blair out of the way, but his partner was pinning him down between the sofa and the heavy coffee table behind him. At least the ringing in his ears was subsiding and he could hear again. His face hurt and reached up to touch his cheek. Blood. Damn, Brackett had almost nailed him again.

“Throw Ellison’s weapon across the room and then stand up,” Brackett ordered, his voice low with menace.

“And then what? You’ll kill us both?” Blair snapped.

Squinting past the glare of the flashlight and Blair’s encircling arm, Jim saw Brackett dart a quick look around the hall. _He’s nervous,_ Jim thought. _He wants to get away before anyone wakes up._

“Tell you what,” Brackett offered, his tone mocking, “You come with no trouble, and I might let him live.”

“Don’t do it, Chief,” Jim directed. His senses finally back under control – though a headache pounded mercilessly – he straightened and grabbed Blair’s arm, using his greater strength to pull it down and away from his body. With one smooth move, he slid in front of his partner. He heard Blair curse in frustration but ignored him. And then, hearing the tell-tale double-click from the stairway, his lips curved in a predatory smile. With a fast look, he spotted Milt at the bend of the staircase, a shotgun trained on Brackett. “Nobody’s going anywhere,” Jim said, though he sorely wished he was still holding his own weapon.

“Awfully cocky for a dead man, Jimmy,” Brackett drawled as he lifted his silenced weapon.

Blair yelled, “NO!” just as Milt shouted at the top of his lungs, “Drop that weapon now, or I swear I’ll drop you.”

His weapon trained on Jim, Brackett froze. “I don’t think so,” he bartered with cool control. “I can kill one of them, maybe both, before you shoot me.”

Jim heard someone call out upstairs and knew Brackett had to have heard it, too. Feet thumped on the floor over their heads as more than one person jumped out of bed and hurried out of their rooms toward the stairs. “You’re out of time, Brackett, and you’ll soon be surrounded,” Jim observed. “Give up.”

Lee darted a quick glance at Milt. “Tell you what,” he bargained, tilting his face toward the stairwell but keeping his eyes fixed on Jim. “How about I just walk away? No harm, no foul. But you push me, and I will kill them.”

Jim glanced at Milt, and he could tell the man was aiming in Brackett’s general direction but could only see the beam of the flashlight. He figured Brackett knew that, too.

“You better run far and fast,” Jim growled. “You won’t get another chance to get away.”

Taking a step back and – when no shot rang out – and another, and another, Brackett reached the open doorway. Once there, he paused. “Here’s a deal for you, Jimmy,” he offered. “Don’t come after me and I’ll let bygones be bygones. Revenge isn’t worth getting caught, you know?”

“Run, Brackett,” Jim told him, low and deadly, making no promises. “Run real fast, and very, very far.”

With a low laugh, Brackett wheeled as if to turn away, but lifted his weapon toward the stairwell and pulled the trigger just before he darted out of the door, slamming it behind him. Milt cried out and his shotgun clattered on the stairs.

Jim pulled Blair down as he scrambled for his gun. Sliding around the end of the sofa, he shot at where Brackett had been – but Brackett was gone and his bullet ploughed into the closed door. Lurching to his feet, he yelled, “Stay down,” at Blair and raced toward the door. But he’d only gotten to the threshold and thrown it open, when the whistle again assaulted his eardrums and brought him, retching, to his knees. He felt Blair grab him and he roared, “Get back, dammit!”

But Blair just hauled him out of the doorway and then wrapped one arm around him while the other stroked his back.

Furious to be incapacitated, Jim used his anger to beat back the agony and the nausea. Cupping the sides of his head and forcing a yawn, he felt his eardrums pop. Though the ringing was bad, he could hear again. Pushing Blair away, he staggered to his feet. “Check on Milt,” he called over his shoulder as he ran outside and, in a crouch, to a tall, slim pine next to the road. He looked both ways, his sight wide open as he raked the darkness, and he strained to catch the sound of Brackett’s retreating steps. But his ears were still ringing too badly to hear much of anything beyond the wild thumping of his own heart. The stench of skunk permeated the air, making it hard to tell which direction Brackett had taken.

“Damn it!” he cursed. Bark flew off the tree, stinging his face as he ducked away. Dropping flat on the ground, his arms outstretched, he pointed his pistol toward where he knew the shot had to have come from. Squinting, he tried to spot Brackett despite the darkness. But the heavy stand of trees lining the two-lane highway and the shadows beneath them foiled his efforts, giving Brackett more than effective cover.

Blair called from the porch, “Jim! You okay?”

“Yeah,” he yelled back. “Go back inside!”

Staying low, he darted across the driveway and into the trees. Leaning his back against a thick oak that gave him decent cover, he peered around it – but Brackett was nowhere to be seen. He clenched his jaw against the urge to yell in frustration. Moving cautiously but with considerable speed, following the scent of skunk, he continued through the woods – until he heard a car engine fire and the squeal of wheels peeling away. By the time he’d run out on the road, the vehicle had disappeared around a curve and was long gone.

Disgusted, he holstered his weapon and jogged back to the lodge. When he discovered that Blair had disregarded his orders to stay under cover, and was kneeling by Josh and his guide, Mark, he grimaced with reflexive annoyance. “They okay?” he called as he drew nearer.

“Yeah, I think so,” Blair replied as he straightened and held up a small dart between his thumb and forefinger. “They both had one of these suckers stuck in them – so did Simon. But I also smelled chloroform on him, so he’s really out for the count.”

“How’s Milt?”

“Brackett only winged him, thank God,” Blair reported as he stood. “Your Dad and one of the guides – medics – whatever, is taking care of him.” Frowning, he looked around in concern. “I don’t understand why the other sentinels haven’t shown up. Even if they were asleep, they should have heard the shouting – and that damned dog whistle.” Then, looking past Jim toward the road, his expression anxious, he queried, “Brackett get away?”

“Yeah.” Jim shook his head in mute frustration.

“You think he meant it – that he’ll just keep going?” Blair asked, hope edging into his voice.

Thinking about it, Jim frowned as he looked away and squinted into the night. Shrugging, he decided, “He’d be a fool to keep hanging around. And Brackett’s a lot of things, but he’s no fool.” Putting an arm around Blair’s shoulders, he added, “But we need to try to stop him. You go in and call the FBI. Tell them Brackett’s headed back toward Washington, or at least he was a few minutes ago. I’ll go check on the other sentries and the cabins, make sure everyone’s okay.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Blair agreed, though he sounded distracted as he again looked toward the back of the lodge. “Brackett _said_ he didn’t hurt any of them.” And then his lips curled in a sardonic smile as he looked back up at Jim. “Maybourne won’t like the Feds being twigged to this school. Even if I call in anonymously, they’ll be able to trace the call.”

Annoyed by the lingering stench of skunk, Jim brushed his nose. “Up to you, Chief. Keep it short and fast, and there won’t be time for a trace. Or give ‘em time and maybe force Maybourne to close the place down.”

“He’d just open up again somewhere else,” Blair muttered as he turned away. “And we sure don’t need the Feds asking questions we don’t want to answer.” Pausing on the step, he turned back. “Wait, maybe I can sic NID onto Brackett, too!” With that, he bounded inside.

A moment later, while he was checking Simon, Jim heard Blair on the office phone, shouting at Maybourne that Brackett had just been there but had been driven off by the sentinels. And, sounding seriously incensed, demanding to know why the hell Maybourne hadn’t told him Brackett was loose. “You’d better get him,” he heard Blair growl, a tone of dominance and menace in his voice that Jim welcomed. “Or all bets are off.” The receiver slammed down, and then Jim heard his partner give a concise message to the FBI, giving them the highway, general location, and direction Brackett was traveling, before quickly terminating the call.

Kneeling beside his boss, Jim determined that Blair was right. Simon was reeking of chloroform and dead asleep. Rubbing his mouth, he decided Blair was probably also right about not tipping the federal agents to the school’s existence. Much as he’d love to involve federal agents in shutting Maybourne down, have them sniff around to find out just what went on here at the lodge and why Brackett had come after them, it would raise too many complications – and potentially delay their own departure from the premises. Once again, he looked toward the road, weighing the likelihood of Brackett coming back after them against the rogue agent’s instincts for self-preservation. Lifting his gaze to the sky, noting the pearly gray light that presaged the dawn, he decided again that the odds were good that Brackett would opt for freedom.

As he hurried around the building, Jim wasn’t happy about the niggling hope he had that Brackett would make it out of the country, when he knew he should be hoping for an arrest. But if Brackett was caught, the rogue agent would just figure out another way to escape – in which case, he might well try again to obtain revenge before he disappeared.

Jim hadn’t wanted to tell Blair about the lack of any sound from the cabins, and he was very relieved to find that the silence was due to the white-noise generators, and not to the absence of life. By the time Jim had found and turned them all off, the sentries at the back of the building were beginning to come around. He helped Tony and his guide, Suzi, to their feet and steadied them up the steps into the lodge. Inside, three of the guides – he couldn’t remember their names – were sitting with Bill and Naomi. Looking slightly stunned, still in pajamas or wearing dressing gowns, they all cradled cups of coffee. Blair was trying to talk Milt into going to the local hospital to get his wound checked.

Snorting, Milt cut into the insistent cajoling, “I told you and young Janie, over there, I’ve cut myself worse chopping vegetables. Leave it be, Blair. I’m okay.”

Blair threw up his hands. “Fine, if you say so.”

“I do,” Milt returned with a crooked grin.

Swiveling around at the sound of their scuffling progress, Blair looked up and met Jim’s eyes, and then his eyes widened as he took in the unsteadiness of the sentinel and guide Jim was shepherding inside. Hurrying across the floor, Blair leant his support to Tony, while Jim guided Suzi to a chair.

“Is everyone alright?” Blair asked anxiously, his gaze flicking to the back door and the cabins beyond.

“Sleeping like babies,” Jim replied with a sardonic twist of his lips. “Brackett put white-noise generators on the window ledges of each cabin – none of them heard a thing.”

Blair helped Tony sit down, and the younger man bent forward to rest his face in his hands. “Some sentinels we turned out to be,” he groaned. “God, what did he hit us with?”

“Some kind of knockout drops on darts,” Jim told him.

“Man, we gotta be better than this,” the SEAL muttered, sounding disgusted.

“Tony’s right, Jim,” Blair said, his expression discouraged. “Guess I didn’t teach them as well as I thought. They’re not ready to be deployed yet.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jim argued, irritable and feeling responsible for having allowed Brackett to get the drop on all of them – and for not being able to stop his escape. “Brackett got the drop on us, too, remember? Not just back in Cascade, but tonight. And I’ve had better than four years of practice.” He grimaced with taut frustration. And then, having to give the devil his due, he sighed heavily. “Face it, Chief – the man came in well prepared because he _knows_ about sentinels. How likely is it that there are a lot more like him out there?”

“As many as he sells the information to,” Blair countered. “If he gets away.”

Not having an answer for that, Jim turned away and rubbed the back of his neck in an effort to ease the tension he felt for having failed. Damn it, he should have nailed the bastard.

But Josh, having awakened and staggered to the front door where he leaned a little drunkenly, said, “Jim’s right. You can’t protect us from everything, Blair. You’ve done your job. It’s time we got back to doing ours.” He yawned and rubbed his face. “Chalk it up to experience. Now, at least, we won’t get cocky – and we’ll be even more careful, just in case someone else _does_ figure out how to take us out of the game.”

“Blair, we need to get away from here,” Naomi cut into the discussion, standing and wringing her hands, her tone frightened and insistent. “Before that Colonel Maybourne shows up – or, or Brackett comes back.”

Blair looked torn as he gazed from Naomi back to Jim. “I don’t think Brackett will be back,” Jim offered to reassure her. “If he manages to evade the FBI and NID agents hunting him and makes it out of the country, I think he’ll keep going.”

“Uh, actually,” Josh interjected as he moved unsteadily into the room, “it’s better if you stay. We need to confront Maybourne and finish this now.”

“Finish how?” Blair demanded, his tone sharply curious. Jim nodded in agreement. He was curious, too.

Josh sank down on the nearest chair. “Don’t worry, Prof. We’ve got it covered.”

Blair’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not good enough, Josh,” he retorted. “There’s too much at stake here.”

“Trust me, okay?” the Ranger assured him. “Trust all of us. Before any of us leave here today, it’s going to be over – and nobody is going to have to go on the run.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Naomi argued. “It’s not your life hanging in the balance.”

“Naomi,” Bill soothed as he stood to put an arm around her shoulders, “take it easy. We’ve got lots of time to clear out before he gets here.”

Still looking a bit green, Tony leaned back in his chair. “Josh is right, Miz Sandburg. We’re going to fix things so that Blair doesn’t have to worry anymore about Maybourne.” Glancing at Jim, he added, “Nobody is going to have to worry about him.”

“You’re not planning to kill him or anything, are you?” Blair asked uneasily.

“Not unless we have to,” Josh replied, his tone cold. But then he grinned. “Seriously, Blair, I don’t think it will come to that.” He glanced at his watch and then pushed himself to his feet. Turning to Naomi, he said with evident sincerity, “I promise you, you have nothing to fear. We owe Blair, and we’re going to pay our debt. I think you’ll be very glad you stayed.”

“Jim, what do you think?” Blair asked uncertainly. “If you think we should just go …”

Jim met Josh’s unflinching gaze and was impressed by the rock solid confidence he saw. Whatever these kids had in mind, Josh seemed pretty damned certain it would work. “I think we should play it out,” Jim answered, trusting his gut instinct and his trust in Ranger training. A predatory smile twitched at the corner of his mouth but he stifled it as he crossed his arms. “Besides, I haven’t met Maybourne yet. This is as good a time as any.”

“Geez, Jim,” Blair complained. “Now I’ll have to worry about _you_ shooting him.”

“Only if I have to, Chief,” Jim replied, not entirely joking. “Only if I have to.” When Blair gaped at him, he relented and, his eyes twinkling, he added, “But, like Josh here said, somehow I don’t think it will come to that.”

Blair looked from him to Josh and back again. “Okay, okay,” he sighed as he raked his hair back and straightened. “This ends here and now.” Turning back to Josh, he added, “But I really hope you know what you’re doing.”

Josh squared his shoulders and his chin came up. Looking every inch the Ranger that he was, he said, “Blair, you’re The Guide. Leaving you at risk is not an option. There isn’t a sentinel here who wouldn’t give his life to secure yours, and our guides will stand with us between you and _any_ threat.” Tony and the guides murmured in solid agreement. “We will _not_ leave here until we’re assured you’re safe.”

Jim heard Blair’s breath catch, and his partner swallowed hard before he said, “Okay, Josh. I trust you; all of you. It’s your show.”

“Thank you,” Josh returned with a slight nod of gratitude. His head cocked to one side. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I hear Mark beginning to wake up. I’ll go help him inside.”

“Yeah, and I hear Simon starting to come around, too,” Jim interjected, moving to follow Josh out the door. “Naomi, maybe you could make some peppermint tea. Chloroform can leave a person pretty nauseated and it would help settle his stomach. Actually, it might help them all feel better.” He caught Blair’s look of surprise and winked. “Hey,” he said, spreading his hands, “I’ve heard all about herbal teas for years – you think I wasn’t paying attention?”

Blair snorted but grinned, his amusement plain and Jim was glad to see him relax a little.

Sighing in resignation, Naomi nodded her acquiescence to the assignment.

“I’ll show you where stuff is,” Milt offered as he stood to lead the way to the kitchen.

Tony rubbed his head. “Man, I need some aspirin.” Rising, he helped his guide stand. “C’mon, we may as well get cleaned up. And then we’ll wake the others and tell _them_ to get breakfast started.”

Blair looked across the room at Bill. “You having fun yet?” he asked wryly.

Bill laughed. “Have to say, son, life’s gotten a lot more interesting than it’s been in quite some time.”

“I bet it has,” Blair chuckled as his gaze shifted from Bill to watch his mother leave the room.

Looking back into the hall from where he knelt beside Simon, Jim saw his father give Blair a quizzical look as Bill gestured lamely toward the door that Naomi had disappeared through. “You, uh, okay with … well ….”

“Hey,” Blair protested as he lifted his hands, palms out, “you’re grown-ups. Your choices are your affair, er,” he blushed, “business.”

Laughing low in his throat at his partner’s discomfiture, Jim shook Simon’s shoulder. “Come on, sleeping beauty, time to rise and shine.”

Simon groaned and rubbed his face. Looking around in confusion, he asked uncertainly, “What the hell happened?”

“Long story,” Jim told him as he stood and levered a very groggy Simon onto his feet. “Don’t worry about it. I have a feeling the best part is still to come.”

**

Over breakfast, Blair reviewed the night’s happenings with everyone. “So, you see,” he concluded with a meaningful glance at Jim, “you are _all_ at very _real_ risk when you go up against someone who knows about your senses, and knows how to use them against you. Brackett used scent to keep you from smelling him, white-noise generators to keep most of you from hearing him, a bright light to blind you when you’re straining to see in the dark, and a dog whistle, to deafen you. The darts and tranquillizers, well,” he shrugged, “we’re just lucky that he didn’t set out to kill everyone who was in his way.”

The sentinels and guides sat with chastened and sober expressions. Simon crossed his arms, his face giving nothing away, while Naomi looked anxious. Blair saw Bill cast a worried look at Jim, who had a stubborn set to his shoulders. Blair’s gaze dropped, and he shook his head, well understanding that he was going to have a fight on his hands when they got out of there.

“So, what do we do about this?” Marcus asked. “How do we protect ourselves?”

“And how do we do a better job of helping?” Suzi called out, a determined set to her jaw.

Blair scratched his neck and frowned. “Well,” he said with a sigh, “even knowing what we were up against, I wasn’t much good to Jim last night.”

“That’s not exactly true, Chief,” Jim cut in. “You knocked me out of the line of fire,” he reflected, with a rueful touch to the graze on his cheek. “Covered my body with yours and kept Brackett talking until I had time to recover. Kept your hands on me, so I’d have something to focus on, your touch, to get my senses back under control. You did good, Blair – even if I’m not happy about you using your body as a shield. You bought us time.”

Blair’s lips parted and he flushed slightly at the praise, but then he shook his head. “Next time, I’ll be carrying a weapon of my own and be able to do more than buy a little time,” Blair replied, still sounding unhappy with himself. “If I’d had one last night, I could have shot back, maybe wounded him or driven him off.” Returning his attention to the group, he continued, “But Jim makes some good points. The guide’s job is to protect the sentinel, to do what you can to give the sentinel time to recoup, and to help him or her recover. A spike is a bit like a zone. Using another sense, in last night’s case, touch, helps the sentinel get things balanced again.”

He paused, and then met the gazes of each of the guides. “I know that you’ve all been weapons-trained and have been in combat or Maybourne wouldn’t’ve sent you here. That puts you all ahead of me – I worked with Jim for four years as an unarmed civilian. For personal reasons, I was reluctant to be armed, even though there were times when I had to pick up a gun or a rifle and shoot back, to give him cover, to help save both of our lives. Eventually,” he looked at his mother, “I came to the realization that to give Jim the best backup I could, I was going to have to learn how to handle a weapon and be willing to carry one. I’ll be taking that training in the near future. Took me a while, but I’ve learned that being able to shoot back may well make the difference between life and death – for both of us.” He gave Milt a grateful smile. “We lucked out last night, when Milt came to the rescue. Thanks, man. I owe you, big time.”

Milt, his arm in a sling, grinned and waved off the gratitude.

Taking a breath, he again addressed the whole group. “I’ve covered all the material with you; taught you what I know about how to manage your senses and how to help your sentinels. But it’s your call whether you’re ready or not, regardless of what Maybourne wants. Say the word, and I’ll tell him that you’ve done your best but it would be disastrous to rely upon your senses for whatever missions he has in mind, at least right now. I can tell him that you need more time to practice as sentinel and guide pairs. Remember, he’s the only one who knows about your senses. You can be reassigned, with your guides, to active duty without anyone else being any the wiser.” He paused to let that sink in. “I expect the Colonel at ten. Between now and then, I’ll be in my office if you want to see me about this, or if you have any last minute questions.”

“How do we reach you after we leave here, if other questions come up?” Mark, Josh’s guide, asked.

“You can call us at home or on my cell,” Jim interjected and gave them the numbers before Blair could answer.

Looking at the clock on the wall, Blair said, “Okay, well, I guess you’ve all got some packing to do. Meet back in the hall at nine-forty-five.”

The group broke up. Simon, Bill and Naomi gathered up the dishes and carried them out to the kitchen. When Blair walked across the floor, to head to his office, Jim fell in beside him. Laying a hand on Blair’s shoulder, his voice low, Jim asked, “You okay?”

“Me? I’m not the one recovering from concussion, with a bullet burn on his cheek,” Blair replied. “How’re you doing?”

“Aside from still being pissed that I let Brackett get away, not bad,” Jim returned with a shrug, and then gave him a penetrating look. “You’re tight as a board, Chief. Relax before you blow a gasket.”

Blair sighed and nodded. “You’re right. All my instincts are screaming at me to get out of here before Maybourne arrives. And, well, I’m worried about them, all of them. They’ve got the basics but, man, I don’t know about them going back on active duty yet.”

“They’re trained military, Blair. They know how to take care of themselves and at least, thanks to you, they have a lot better idea of what to do, how to handle themselves, than we did in the beginning. Hell, when we started, I was in the midst of a case, and we learned as we went along. They’ll be okay.”

“You’re right,” Blair agreed, grateful for the reassurance and the reminder that he and Jim had managed with a lot less knowledge. “I just feel responsible for them, you know?”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Jim said with a smile, and ruffled his hair.

Ducking away, Blair led the way into his office and dropped behind the desk. “We’ll need to take the boxes with us,” he told Jim, with a gesture at the stack in the corner. “It’s all the results from my lab tests, and extra copies of the handbook I gave them all. I don’t want Maybourne getting his hands on any of it.” Frowning, he stared at the boxes and thought about everything they contained. “On the other hand, maybe we should just burn them before we leave. That’s probably the safest thing to do.”

Jim leaned forward in his chair, his hands clasped between his knees. “You know, Blair, despite everything, you did good work here. You’ve given those people back their lives.”

Sitting back, Blair thought about that. “You know what’s really sad?” he asked. When Jim shook his head, he said, “If Maybourne had just asked me, you know? If he’d just explained that he thought there were a bunch of sentinels who needed help, who were in a lot of pain, I might have agreed to help him. Maybe.”

“You mean, when it was clear that he knew all about me, and denial wasn’t getting you anywhere?”

Blair swallowed heavily and then shook his head. “No, no I guess not. I wouldn’t ever have admitted he was right about you.”

“Chief, we’ve got to deal with this … this secret. It can’t go on.”

“Damn it, it has to, Jim!” he erupted, jumping to his feet. “Weren’t you listening to me this morning? About the risks when someone _knows_? You want every lowlife in Cascade –”

“No, obviously not,” Jim cut in, and held his hands up for peace. “We don’t have to reveal everything. Just … just enough so that … that you don’t have to keep paying a price. If we came clean about the sentinel stuff, then you wouldn’t have a hassle at the PD –”

At the mention of the future Jim still obviously hoped they’d have, Blair felt despair suffuse him. Collapsing back on his chair, he asked, “How can I go back, Jim? God, everyone thinks I’m dead. What the hell do we tell them? Huh?”

“We’ll figure something out.”

“Maybe we can say I banged my head in the accident and had amnesia or something,” Blair suggested, though he knew it was weak. With an attempt at humour, he added, “Always seems to work on soap operas. Somebody vanishes, is presumed dead, and then, years later, turns up with amnesia.”

Jim gave him a wry look. “I think we can do better than that,” he chided.

“Oh, yeah? Then lay it on me, man. ‘Cause I’d sure like to have an answer that would fly.”

Looking away, Jim shook his head. “We’ll come up with something. Maybe that you were captured by aliens.”

Blair felt laughter build in his chest and, though he knew it was more than half borne of desperation, he gave in to it. “Okay, okay, I get the message. You don’t want to talk about this now. Fine, we’ll work something out. Guess … well, I guess we don’t have much choice.”

“If it doesn’t work,” Jim said then, his tone sober, “we’ll go somewhere else. I know you think I’m married to my job, but … not the way I’m married to you. If we can’t both be happy in Cascade, we’ll find someplace we can be happy. Just don’t worry about it all right now, okay? You’ve got enough to deal with, just getting through the next few hours.”

“Okay,” he agreed, warmth at Jim’s words and commitment to him welling inside and warring with the anxiety he’d been carrying around for months. “You have any idea what these guys have got planned?”

“Nope,” Jim replied, shaking his head. His gaze met Blair’s as he said with firm confidence, “But I trust Josh. He’s got his head screwed on right. If he says they’ve got a plan that’ll work, I’m willing to let them run with it.”

Blair heaved a long sigh and tried to let go of his fear of Maybourne and set aside his misgivings about the future. Leaning his elbows on the desk and lowering his face into his hands, he murmured, “I’m tired, Jim. I’m just so damned tired.”

Jim came to stand beside him and tugged him around, moved in between his legs and put arms around him, drawing him close. Blair gladly leaned into the embrace, wrapping his arms around Jim’s body and resting his head against his partner’s chest. Listening to Jim’s heart beating, remembering how he’d been so certain that he’d never hear that strong, steady beat again, he closed his eyes and smiled. Whatever happened, whatever the future held, one thing he did know: they would face it together.

Never, never, would he ever leave Jim again.

**

Just before the group was to gather in the hall, Ansel knocked on the open door. Blair was surprised by his appearance, both the fact that he was there, and that he was in his dress uniform. Ansel, the erstwhile spy and now guide, had seemed to leap at the chance to replace the one guide who hadn’t been able to contend with the program – it hadn’t been hard to convince Maybourne to send him as a substitute, rather than try to find another medic at the last minute – and Ansel had been doing really well with the training. Not to mention that the airman had seemed distinctly glad to get an assignment that would get him out from under Maybourne’s direct control. Why would he want to bail now? God, surely Ansel wasn’t going to tell him something awful, like he’d only returned to again be Maybourne’s spy? Not after Ansel had done his best to keep Josh informed of what Maybourne and Brackett were up to; that wouldn’t make any sense – unless Ansel had been playing them for fools all along. Concerned, hoping he hadn’t been badly wrong about the airman’s integrity, Blair waved him inside.

Jim stood. “I’ll just get out of the way, here.”

“No, no, that’s okay,” Ansel told him, and gestured for him to resume his seat. Turning to Blair, he said, “I’m not here because I want out of the program – not at all.”

Blair smiled in response, both relieved and pleased his assessments were right that Ansel could be trusted and had taken to being a guide like a duck to water. “What can I do for you, Ansel?” he asked, wondering what was on the airman’s mind.

“You’ve already done it, sir,” Ansel replied, and drew himself up a little straighter. “After you caught me spying on the program, I still can’t believe you gave me a shot to come back and learn how to guide. Not many men would have shown that willingness to trust.”

“Ansel, _you’re_ the one who warned us that Brackett was loose – God knows when even Jim would have heard anything from the authorities,” Blair exclaimed. “And I found out then, from Josh, that you were doing what you could to both keep an eye on Maybourne and to figure out what he had on me. That’s when I knew I could trust you.”

“Wait,” Jim interjected, “did you work in Maybourne’s office?”

“Yes, sir,” Ansel confirmed, and his gaze dropped as if he was embarrassed. “I know what I did could be grounds for court martial, but ….” His gaze lifted to Blair’s. “We all knew something wasn’t right. And I’d worked with the Colonel long enough to know that, well, that you might need all the help you could get.”

Jim’s brow puckered in thought. “Did you happen to, uh, pass some information about this school to a CIA agent? About two weeks ago?”

Ansel looked even more uncomfortable, but he nodded. “Yes, sir, I did.”

“Then you were the one who made it possible for me locate Blair,” Jim said, sounding very grateful. Standing, he held out his hand. “I owe you for that. Thank you.”

Though he seemed embarrassed, Ansel shook Jim’s hand. “No need for thanks, sir,” he stammered. Again turning to Blair he went on with painful sincerity, “You gave me a chance, and you’ve helped me become a part of something that’s … that’s awesome. You got me out of a place that made me ashamed to wear the uniform, and you’ve given me my pride back – and my belief that what we stand for is worthwhile. I just, I just want to thank you for that, Professor. I’ll do everything in my power to not let you, or my sentinel, Ross, down.”

“I believe you,” Blair affirmed, touched by the man’s appreciation and commitment. “You’re a good man, Ansel, and I’m glad you’re in the program. You’ll do just fine.”

Ansel flushed as he gave a short, sharp nod. Stepping back, he stiffened to attention and saluted Blair before wheeling around and leaving the office.

Bemused, Blair shook his head. “He did that the last time, when I sent him back to Maybourne. Saluted, I mean. I thought the military only saluted one another and important civilians, like the President.”

“The military aren’t required to salute civilians, and it doesn’t happen all that often.”

“So, it’s because I’m in charge of the program?”

“No,” Jim smiled as he shook his head. “No, Chief. Ansel saluted you to convey that he respects you and holds you in high personal esteem. There is no higher accolade than a salute that is freely given.”

“Oh,” Blair breathed. “That’s …” he hesitated, trying to find a word to convey the mixture of astonishment, pride, and pleased warmth that suffused him. “Pretty great.”

“Yeah, Blair, it is.”

They heard the group assembling in the hall, and left the office to join them. Someone had either found or brought a flag and it was draped on the wall behind the men and women who were garbed in full dress uniform and arranging themselves into two lines, with slight spacing between each sentinel and guide pair.

“Wow,” Blair exclaimed with soft amazement, a little overwhelmed by the display. “They weren’t dressed like this when they arrived.”

“This is maybe the most important graduation ceremony of their lives,” Jim replied, sounding appreciative. “They’re showing it the honor they feel it deserves.”

“Well, I’m impressed,” Blair replied, grinning despite his trepidation about Maybourne’s imminent arrival. Looking around, he asked, “Where’s Mom, and your Dad, and Simon?”

“Just out of sight, in the dining room,” Jim informed him. “There may be no need for Maybourne to even know we’re here.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Blair agreed, fear for them making his palms damp. Things could get dicey and he was more than happy to never have Maybourne realize just how many people knew about the program – people the colonel might feel a need to silence. When Jim cocked his head and looked toward the entry, Blair’s throat went dry. “Maybourne’s here?”

Jim squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “Just pulling into the drive. I’ll be close, Chief. Don’t worry. Whatever happens next, we’ll be leaving here soon.”

Blair’s chest was tight, constricting his attempt to take a deep breath. Pressing his lips together, he could do no more than nod. As Jim loped across the floor and into the dining room, he squared his shoulders and walked to the door to meet the dragon.

Stepping onto the porch, he waited in silence as the sedan and a military transport bus stopped in front of the building. Maybourne was scarcely out of the car when Blair demanded, “You catch Brackett?”

“Uh, no, not yet,” the colonel replied as he mounted the steps. “We’ll talk about that after the others get on the bus.”

“Uh huh,” Blair grunted, and gestured for Maybourne to lead the way inside.

“Well, well,” the colonel exclaimed with a wide smile when he saw them assembled under the flag, but his tone was patronizing as he said in an aside to Blair, “This isn’t college. You didn’t have to make them dress up for some graduation ceremony.”

“They’ve achieved something significant here,” Blair countered, irritation at the man’s callous manner overcoming his fear. “They deserve to have it acknowledged and celebrated.”

“Fine, fine, just keep it short.”

Rolling his eyes, Blair moved to stand in front of the men and women he’d come to respect and care about. When it hit him that he might never see any of them again, his throat thickened with emotion. “Colonel Maybourne,” he began formally, “standing before you are nineteen sentinel and guide pairs, the first and only such group to exist in our society, or in any society for that matter, for perhaps centuries – if ever. They have honed their unique skills in order to work together effectively, and they must be assigned as teams. The various partners are not, I repeat, _not_ , interchangeable.”

Maybourne’s gaze roamed over the group that was standing at attention, and he frowned. “Wait a minute,” he challenged as he waved a hand at them. “You’ve got pairings here where the guide outranks the sentinel. That’s not appropriate. The sentinel will be in charge of their missions.”

“Between a guide and sentinel, there is no rank,” Blair contested, his tone firm. “They work as equals, and each brings the required skills to make their partnership work.”

“This isn’t your call, kid,” Maybourne growled.

“If you want them to be effective, you’ll respect their working partnerships. Ignore it, and you’ll not only screw up whatever missions you send them on, you’ll probably get them killed,” Blair argued, giving no ground. “You brought me here to train these men and women because I _know_ how all this works. Their senses are online, Colonel, and they cannot be turned on and off like a light bulb. The sentinels need the guides who can best support them, period. Frankly, I don’t give a damn about your precious rank structure, and when it comes to their working relationship with one another, neither do they. Live with it.”

Maybourne’s mouth twisted, but he shrugged. “Okay, well, let’s get this show on the road.”

Taking a breath, Blair turned to the group. “As you can see, the colonel and I disagree on a number of matters, and you all know that I was brought here under duress.”

“Now just wait a minute,” Maybourne interjected.

“What?” Blair challenged, anger flaring in his eyes. “You don’t think sentinels could hear our conversations from the first day they arrived? Wrap your head around it, Colonel. They know.”

Ignoring Maybourne’s flush of annoyance, turning back to the group, he went on, “Despite the, uh, circumstances that brought me here, I can honestly say it was a pleasure and a very real privilege to work with all of you. You are amazing human beings, all of you, guides and sentinels. You exhibit a commitment to the protection of our society that is … humbling. I hope … I hope that what you’ve learned here will stand you in good stead when you return to active duty.” He took a deep breath to contain the anxiety he felt for them, and his sorrow to know some might well die in their service to their country. Before he could continue, he had to clear his throat. “I don’t know if I’ll ever have the good fortune of seeing any of you again, but you can bet I won’t ever forget you or ever stop hoping you’re safe.” Pressing his lips together, he swallowed hard. “Thank you, for working so hard, for being so brave.”

Bowing his head, he swiped quickly at his nose and stood back a step.

“Well, that was a very nice speech,” Maybourne drawled. “Okay, the bus is waiting –”

Captain Josh Makins took a step forward, and his tone was crisply formal as he interrupted, “We’re not yet finished, Colonel.” He drew a thin file folder from under his arm and, opening it, pulled out two documents. “As Mr. Sandburg has said, we are aware that he was coerced into participating in this program under extreme duress and that is unacceptable. Accordingly, we have two options to put before you to enable corrective action.”

Maybourne held up a hand and his tone was frigid with anger. “That will do. The arrangements I have with Sandburg are none of your business. You’re dismissed.”

“With all due respect, Colonel,” Josh responded, his voice equally cold, “we are not required to respond to unlawful orders, nor are we willing to be party to what amounts to intimidation, kidnapping, and threat to the lives of Mr. Sandburg’s loved ones, all of which are illegal acts.” Holding up one of the documents, he stated, “This is an affidavit, signed by all of us, attesting to what this program is about, what our skills are, and what we know about how you ‘persuaded’ Mr. Sandburg to train us. If you fail to accept the other option we are prepared to present to you, we will send copies of this document to the Joint Chiefs, our state congressmen and senators, and to the President.”

Maybourne whirled to face Blair, who was blinking in startled amazement at what Josh had threatened. “You’ll regret putting them up to this, Sandburg.”

“Mr. Sandburg had nothing to do with this,” Josh countered. “This is as much a surprise to him as it is to you.”

“Well, maybe you should have run this by him,” Maybourne drawled sarcastically. “You might have discovered that Sandburg has his own reasons for not wanting the truth about sentinels revealed. Don’t you, Sandburg?”

“You’re right,” Jim said loudly, as he entered the room, Simon, William and Naomi on his heels. Maybourne gaped at them in astonishment, and seemed to be rendered momentarily speechless. Striding across the room, Jim stopped beside Blair, and the others ranged behind them. “Blair has been very reluctant to allow public disclosure about sentinels. I, however, am not reluctant, and believe it is in our mutual best interest to put an end to the secrets.”

“Perhaps, before any decisions are made, you’d all like to hear our second option,” Josh offered.

Maybourne glared at him and, in the silence, Jim encouraged, “Sure, go ahead. I’m interested even if he isn’t.”

Nodding, Josh held up the second document. “Colonel Maybourne, this is a letter from you to the Chancellor of Rainier University. Allow me to read it to you:

‘Dear Chancellor Edwards,

A former doctoral student at Rainier University, Blair Sandburg, has given incalculable assistance to a classified program to train sentinels and guides for the United States military. Because of the nature of this secret project, Mr. Sandburg was not at liberty to discuss his involvement. Indeed, he assisted in creating a smokescreen to undermine the credibility of sentinels in our society and then agreed to a ruse to enable him to disappear effectively, so his involvement in this program would not be suspected. The pilot program, which would not have been possible without his expert assistance, has now been successfully completed. However, I regret that his selfless actions have had serious consequences for him personally.

As you can appreciate, whatever document he produces as a result of his work and research with the military cannot reveal the source or identities of the sentinels and guides he studied and trained. However, that caveat should not inhibit the production of a paper that will have worldwide significance when it is eventually released into the public domain. Unfortunately, for security reasons, that cannot occur for twenty-five years. In the meantime, I am confident that Mr. Sandburg will find other ways of sharing his important insights, for the betterment of others in our society and around the world; others who are blessed with enhanced sensory capacity but who are confused about their skills and may currently be suffering from a lack of knowledge and understanding.

I hope you will agree to enable Mr. Sandburg’s return to his doctoral program at this time. He now has an abundance of research to support his dissertation – research that I’m confident any university in America, indeed in the world, would vie to obtain. However, his first preference is to return to Cascade, Washington.

I am certain that you will want join with me in recognizing this young man’s uncommon courage in placing his own reputation at risk to ensure the security of our nation and its interests internationally. I have no doubt that the United States military will be making significant investments to support his continued research in the years to come. However, of course, if you decline the opportunity of Mr. Sandburg’s return to Rainier, any future such investment will go to whatever other institution he decides to attend.

Whatever you decide, please be advised that any disclosure of the contents of this letter would be a violation of the National Secrets Act and you would be summarily prosecuted as a traitor to the nation with all the attendant penalties thereof.

Yours sincerely,’”

When he finished reading, Josh gestured to the group and they split down the middle, moving aside to reveal a table behind them that was stacked with small books. “These are our personal journals, Blair. Regardless of what the Colonel decides, we are giving them to you, to use along with all our test results as you see fit in the pursuance of your doctorate and your further work with sentinels and guides.”

Absolutely staggered, Blair pressed a hand against his mouth, and was grateful for the support of Jim’s strong hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know what to say,” he finally managed to gasp. “This is … this is … I never expected anything like this.”

“Neither did I,” Maybourne said with caustic sarcasm.

“I’m not quite finished,” Josh went on. “There is a second, similar letter to the Commissioner of the Cascade Police Department, explaining the necessity for national security reasons of facilitating Mr. Sandburg’s departure from Cascade quickly, and in a manner that would not result in an investigation into his disappearance. That letter apologizes for the unavoidable confusion and requests the Commissioner’s assistance in enabling Mr. Sandburg’s return to his former life. These two letters would, hopefully, restore what Mr. Sandburg gave up when he was forced to comply with your demands.” Holding the documents in either hand, Josh held them up. “Your choice, sir. Do we go public and blow this whole thing wide open, or will you agree that wouldn’t be in anyone’s, least of all your, best interest?”

“This is blackmail,” Maybourne charged, though there was a note of grudging respect in his tone, as if he appreciated their moxie in taking him on.

“Not at all,” Josh riposted. “It’s a warning. If anything untoward happens to Mr. Sandburg, or those he cares about, that can ever be traced back to you, we are all committed to seeing justice done.”

“Is that a threat?” Maybourne grated.

“It’s a promise … sir.”

Blair felt his mother’s hand slide into his own and he squeezed her fingers in an effort to both reassure her and keep her from speaking out. He could feel the palpable tension in the silence that filled the hall as Maybourne pondered his choices. When it stretched too thin for him to endure any longer, watching the colonel, he offered unsteadily, “You know, I … if a school like this one could be set up near Cascade, I’d be willing to work with others that you may identify.” He glanced over his shoulder at Simon. “I’d need a leave of absence for a month or so at a time, but it could be done.” Much to his relief, Simon gave him a sober nod.

“You sure about that, Chief?” Jim demanded, sounding uneasy.

“Yeah, yeah, I am – it would all be secret, right? So there’d be no risks to you of anything coming out. And, well, you know what it’s like, Jim, to have your senses erupt on you and not know what’s going on or how to … to deal with them. And, and maybe some of you guys,” he added, gesturing to his group of sentinels and guides, “could work with me and eventually take over the training.” The smiles and nods he received encouraged him. Turning back to Maybourne, he said, “You see, this doesn’t have to be a war. We can all get what we want.” His tone hardened as he observed, “And, hey, let’s not forget that you abrogated our ‘agreement’ when you let Brackett get away and go after Jim and me. Last night, I reported his presence in the area to the FBI anonymously, but I’m sure they’d be very interested to know why he was here.” Glancing at the group, he added, “I … I wouldn’t compromise the secrecy of this project unless copies of that affidavit were already sent. So Josh is right – it’s up to you, Colonel.”

Maybourne grimaced at that. He studied Sandburg, glanced at Jim, and then faced the group. “Okay,” he agreed, holding out his hand, “you haven’t given me much choice. I’ll sign the damned letters.”

Josh stepped forward and handed him the documents and a pen. Maybourne used the file folder to brace the pages and, his expression sour, signed his name on both. “I want that affidavit,” he growled as he handed the letters back to Josh.”

“Request respectfully declined,” Josh answered as he stepped back and his expression was dangerously cold. “Consider it our insurance that you keep up your end of the bargain.”

Maybourne scowled at him, but then looked away. “Whatever. We’re done here. Get the hell on the bus.”

Returning to his place in line beside Mark, Josh turned to face Blair. They all came to attention and he said, “Thank you, sir, for all that you taught us, and all that you suffered on our behalf. Be assured that we will stay in touch with you – you’ve become very important to all of us. You’ve given us our lives and careers back, and we’re most grateful. Good luck, Blair. If you ever need any of us, don’t ever hesitate to call.”

And then the sentinels and guides saluted smartly, holding it for a long moment, before their arms slapped back to their sides. Breaking formation, they turned to the door, where their bags were stacked.

“Wait!” Blair called out, stepping forward, his arms out. When they turned back to him, he continued toward them. “Thank you doesn’t seem enough,” he stammered, as he began to hug them each in turn. “Thank you so, so much.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Maybourne snapped. Throwing up his hands, annoyance rigid in his spine, he strode out the door.

“And good riddance,” Jim muttered.

And then, he, too, along with their parents and Simon, moved into the crowd of military personnel, shaking their hands, offering their thanks. Jim pounded Josh on the shoulder as he congratulated the Ranger for a job well done.

Gradually, the room cleared of soldiers, sailors and air men and women. Josh and Marcus were the last to leave. Blair and Jim walked with them to the door.

“I’ll send these letters by registered mail this afternoon, Blair, including the copies to you,” Josh assured him. “We really do hope this will fix things for you – and keep Maybourne off your back.”

“You guys are amazing,” Blair replied. “You absolutely and completely blew me away.”

“It was the least we could do,” Josh told him.

“Yeah, it was a tight vote,” Marcus joked. “A more expedient solution would have been to simply remove the threat permanently.” When Blair gaped at him, he added with a lazy grin, “But we didn’t think you’d go along with that.” He glanced at Josh and then drew a thick envelope from his pocket. “There is one more thing,” he said, handing it to Blair.

Mystified, Blair opened it and gasped at the sight of more hundred dollar bills than he could count with a quick scan. “Wh-what’s this?” he demanded, looking up at each of them.

“We didn’t think we could pressure Maybourne into buying you a new car,” Marcus replied with a wide grin.

“But … I can’t accept –”

Josh gripped his shoulder. “Getting Maybourne off your back was about justice. This … this is our gift, to say thank you from all of us in a more tangible way than just the words.” He closed Blair’s fingers around the envelope. “Take it … and send us all photos of your new car. Information on how to contact each of us is in the journals we left you.”

“Man, thank you … thank everyone, okay? This is, this is really great.” Blair smiled with bemused gratitude. Shaking his head, he slapped them both on the back. “You guys be careful, okay?”

“Guides,” Josh sighed with a look of commiseration at Jim. “They just can’t help themselves, can they? Always worrying.”

Jim laughed, and they all moved outside where Blair and Jim stood on the verandah and watched them climb onto the bus. Behind him, Blair heard Simon, his mother, William and Milt come out to join them, and they all waved when the bus pulled out.

“What about you, Milt?” Blair asked. “Where do you go from here?”

“Oh, I’ll get my orders in a day or two. Meanwhile, I’ll get the local help to clean the place up, get it ready to go back on the rental market.”

Blair shook his hand. “Thanks. You’ve been really great and, and you saved our lives the other night. You stay in touch, too, y’hear?”

“I will,” the older man affirmed with a grin. With a nod at the others, he disappeared back inside the lodge.

As if she couldn’t restrain herself a moment more, Naomi threw herself into Blair’s arms. “Oh, sweetie!” she caroled, a blindingly bright smile splitting her face. “They fixed it. They fixed everything! I’m so glad. So very, very glad.”

“I am, too, Mom,” he murmured as he held her close. “They’re pretty incredible people.”

“Well, I guess it’s time we made tracks, too,” Simon rumbled, sounding suspiciously emotional, as he stepped down off the porch. “I’ll bring the SUV around and we can get everything loaded up. Jim says you have a bunch of boxes, Sandburg?”

“Yeah, in the office. I’ll just put their journals into one of them, and they’re good to go.”

“I’ll give you a hand, Chief,” Jim offered.

Once Bill and Naomi had gone upstairs for their bags, Blair turned to Jim. “You don’t mind, do you? That I offered to train others like them?”

Jim pulled him into his arms. “No, Chief, I don’t mind at all. Maybourne’s an ass, but this program … it’s important. I’m proud of you, Blair. Proud of what you accomplished here. And, if there are other groups, well, maybe I could help you train them.”

Hugging Jim tightly, Blair grinned up at him. “That would be so great!” And then he pulled away, unable to resist doing a small dance of joy, his feet beating on the floorboards, his hands above his head as he spun around in delight. It was over! He could go back to Cascade, back to his life, and Jim wouldn’t have to reveal anything about his senses! Stopping as suddenly as he’d started, he looked up at Jim with unbridled happiness. “We can go home!” he exclaimed and grabbed Jim to whirl him around. “We can go home!”

“Yeah,” Jim agreed, his tone low and husky as echoed, “Home.” Once more, he drew Blair close and this time Jim kissed him thoroughly, leaving no doubt in Blair’s mind about all that being home would mean.

His fears laid to rest, Blair kissed him right back with fervent enthusiasm and breathless desire.

**

Joel thought he might burst with joy as he hung up the phone. Standing, he bustled around Simon’s desk and out into the bullpen.

“Attention! Attention!!” he called loudly with a broad smile as he waved the rest of the team to him. “It’s a long, long story, and I don’t have all the details,” he told them, “but I can tell you this. Blair’s … Blair’s alive. And Jim and Simon are bringing him home.”

“What!!” they all exclaimed in shock, and then H yodeled, “Hairboy’s alive! Oh, man, oh, man, that’s the best news I’ve heard in … well, ever!”

Rafe, his eyes alight and a smile wreathing his face, slapped his partner’s back. “Sure is,” he agreed. “Can’t wait to hear _this_ story!”

Megan gaped at Joel … and then burst into tears. Mortified, she swiped at her eyes. “Oh, bugger,” she muttered. Throwing her arms around Joel, she gave him a big smacking kiss on the cheek. And then she pulled back and poked his arm, hard. “You knew, didn’t you!” she accused, but her smile was wide. “You old so-and-so – the last few days I _thought_ you had the look of the cat that got the canary, but I never dreamed it could be about anything as smashing as this! Why didn’t you _tell_ us?!”

“Ah, I’m sorry, Megan,” he apologized, but he just could not stop beaming. “I didn’t know, not … not really. Just sorta guessed. And I still don’t know the details. Only that it would’ve been dangerous for Blair if anyone found out. But Simon just called and he says everything is okay now. Everything’s just fine.”

She sniffed and hugged him again. “Sandy’s alive,” she sighed. “H is right. That’s the best damned news ever!”

“When’ll they be home, Joel?” Henri asked. “We need to meet them, throw a big party! Celebrate!”

“They’ll be flying in later this afternoon. I’ll call the private airport right now, and find out what time.”

**

Blair was astonished when they walked into small terminal to be greeted by riotous cheering, and he was nearly knocked off his feet when they mobbed him, each one apparently determined to hug the stuffing out of him.

“Hey, Lazarus, welcome back!” Joel called with a laugh.

“Hairboy!” H bellowed and thumped him on the back.

“Oh, Sandy,” Megan wailed, once more bursting into tears.

“Blair, real good to have you back,” Rafe stated, grinning.

“Oh, wow,” Blair exclaimed, as he tried to hug them all, “how did you ….” But his eye caught Simon’s and he smiled with understanding. “Thanks,” he said, and then included all of them. “Thanks so much for the terrific welcome home!”

“We gotta par-tee!” Henri declared.

“That’s for damned sure,” Joel agreed in hearty accord.

Blair looked around for Jim, and found him a few steps away, chuckling with evident amusement. “Yeah, yeah, okay,” Blair agreed. “Uh, not sure you’ve all met Jim’s father, William Ellison,” he ventured, extricating himself from the enthusiastic embraces and deliberately redirecting their attention to give him time to catch his breath. “Bill’s been a huge amount of help. He, he made sure my mother was kept safe, and he flew us back here.”

Before he’d finished, they were all shaking William’s hand and slapping him on the back.

Easing closer to his partner, Blair asked in a low tone, “You don’t mind if we all go out for a while? I mean, I _really_ want to get home but –”

Slinging an arm around his shoulder, Jim tweaked a curl and assured him, “I don’t mind at all, Chief. A celebration sounds perfect.”

**

“So, can you tell us what this was all about?” Joel asked once they were all settled around two tables in the corner of the bar near the loft, and had icy mugs of beer in front of them.

Blair looked at their expectant faces, and then around the room. Leaning forward with his elbows on the table, he lowered his voice so that they all had to strain to hear him. “This probably isn’t the best place,” he said in a conspiratorial murmur, “But I had to do something top secret for the military and they didn’t want to risk anyone knowing about it, so they faked my death.”

“Bloody hell,” Megan growled. “Let me guess. Something to do with sentinels, right, boyo?”

“Shh,” Blair urged, waving at her to keep her voice down. “Yeah, something like that,” he allowed.

“Jimbo, did you know all this was goin’ down?” Henri demanded, scowling.

“No, no, I didn’t,” Jim replied, his tone low and rough with memory. “I thought the accident was real.”

“I’m sorry,” Blair interjected, first to Jim and then to the others, “I’m so, so sorry that I just _couldn’t_ tell anyone at the time.”

“Yeah, well, they bloody well better not try something like that again,” Megan snapped, anger flashing in her eyes.

“They won’t,” Jim proclaimed, his tone flat and final.

“Well, that’s good,” Joel said, his hand on his heart. “I’m not sure this old ticker could take goin’ through all that again.”

Touched, Blair laid a hand on Joel’s arm. “Jim told me you arranged the service. Thanks, Joel. I really appreciate that. More than I can say. I just feel really bad that you, all of you, had to go through that.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Blair,” his mother crooned. “They didn’t give you any choice.”

“What? I thought this was supposed to be a free country!” Megan stormed.

Lifting his hands for calm, Blair insisted, “It is. There are a lot of fine people who make sure it is, and I got to meet quite a few of them – people like all of you. It was … it was hard, but it’s okay now. Really okay.”

William lifted his glass. “To Blair,” he toasted. “Really good to have you home, son.”

“Hear! Hear!” they cheered.

Blair felt a surge of love for all of them, his friends, his family. Blinking back the tears that glistened in his eyes, he swallowed hard and lifted his own glass. “It’s so good to be home.”

He felt Jim’s hand on his leg under the table, and he covered it with his own as he said to his partner, “ _Really, really good._ ”

**

When the party broke up, and people were taking their leave on the sidewalk outside the bar, Naomi told Blair, “I’m going to stay at William’s place tonight, Blair. He’ll fly me home in the morning.”

Still a bit nonplussed by the unlikely friendship between their parents, Blair hugged her and said over her shoulder, “Thanks, Bill. Thanks for taking such good care of my Mom.”

“It’s been my pleasure,” William replied with an engaging smile. “Oh, and I’ll have the boxes you brought back delivered to your place tomorrow.”

Naomi hugged Jim, and said, “Thank you for finding him. For never giving up on him.”

“I never will,” he told her, before releasing her to his father’s care. “Stay in touch, Naomi.” Then he turned to his father and clasped him in a hard hug. “Thanks, Pop,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “Thanks for helping me get him back.”

“Thank you, for giving me the chance,” William said so low that Blair barely heard him. Blair’s eyes blurred as he watched Bill hug Jim, and pat him on the shoulder. He was so glad that Jim and his father had reconciled, ‘cause he knew what it meant for Jim – and probably for Bill, too.

When Bill and Naomi moved across the sidewalk to hail a cab, Simon leaned down and asked, “Blair, do you want me to get things rolling again at the Academy? Or should I wait until you hear from Rainier?”

“I want to work with Jim, Simon, so yeah, please, if they’ll still have me, I’d like to start as soon as possible.”

“Good. I’ll take care of it. See you both downtown on Monday.” With that, he smiled as he pulled a cigar out of his pocket and strolled away.

“Monday?” Blair echoed as he started walking home with Jim. “Isn’t that a bit soon? I mean, nearly everybody still thinks I’m dead.”

“The sooner they find out you’re not, the better,” Jim stated as he looped an arm around Blair’s shoulder and drew him close to his side.

“Yeah, but, there’s all the other stuff. You think they’ll’ve forgotten the press conference? It’s only been a little over three months. Do I even have a right to go to the PD until, well, until I get my badge?”

“Sandburg, will you quit worrying already!” Jim exclaimed. “Everything’s going to fine.”

“You’re not going to go public about your senses,” he insisted. “You know that right?”

Jim sighed. “Do we have to have this conversation now?”

“Yeah, I think we do.”

Jim rolled his eyes and sighed again.

When Jim didn’t say anything as they walked the next block, Blair began to fear the worst. Stopping dead, he turned to face Jim. “You _can’t_ say anything. This is bigger than you and me now. The whole sentinel thing is _classified!_ ”

“Only when it concerns sentinels in the military,” Jim retorted. “Give me a minute, Chief. I’m thinking about it, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Blair agreed grudgingly and again fell into step as they covered the last block to the apartment.

When they got upstairs, Jim tossed his keys in the basket and dumped his overnight bag on the floor. Then he turned and pinned Blair to the door. Blair lifted his head to meet Jim’s lips and the kiss was tender – a greeting, a promise, a confirmation that they were together, and they were home.

When Jim pulled back, he said, “We can’t say anything specific about what you’ve been doing for the military. But, inside the PD, there’s no way to keep it all completely quiet. So, here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m going to admit to being a sentinel inside and I’ll perform some tests for the D.A., so there’ll be no problem with my testimony in the future.”

“But –”

Jim pressed a finger to Blair’s lips. “Hear me out, okay?” When Blair frowned his disapproval but nodded, he went on, “We’ll spin it that your research inadvertently came too close to research the government is doing, and you were required to disavow your paper on me to protect national secrets. And we’ll let it be known that in exchange for your help in furthering their research, the government released material for you to use in your dissertation. So as far as the public will ever know, I’m not a sentinel. But the people who matter _will_ know.”

“But –”

“I’m not finished, here, Chief. You and I both know that, after she gets that letter from Maybourne, Edwards is going to salivate at the chance to get you back. You’ll finish your PhD in no time and, after that, you’ll be ‘Doctor’ Sandburg – which kinda conveys credibility, right? If you get hit someday on cross-examination about the whole sentinel thing, you can just shrug and say the question is moot, and that you’ve finished your PhD with Rainier on the incidence of naturally occurring exceptional senses in history and in present-day society.”

“Jim, I won’t be able to say _anything_ about the contents of diss – not if it’s classified,” Blair objected in frustration. “You _know_ that.”

“Okay, okay, fine, you’re right. But work with me here, Chief. Maybe you just say that the misunderstanding with Rainier has been satisfactorily resolved and remind the court that the university granted your PhD. If the defense pushes and asks why your dissertation isn’t available for public review, you _can_ tell them that the details of your research have been classified by the federal government and you’re not at liberty to discuss the document.” Jim grinned. “You gotta know that people will make their own guesses about what that means – but so what? It’s the truth. And saying just _that_ much would carry a real punch.”

“Oh, man, I don’t know. Finishing the doctorate doesn’t, by definition, mean that I didn’t also lie and commit fraud,” Blair replied, unconvinced.

“You’re right,” Jim allowed, not looking happy about it. “The defense will still try to discredit you. But you can bet the attorney won’t like the fact that you’ve just managed to let the jury know that the federal government trusts you enough to let you work on classified material.”

Blair snorted. “Like the general public has that much faith in the government – or any trust in ‘classified secrets’.”

Jim sighed and shook his head. “There had to be a way to make this all work,” he muttered. Frowning, speaking slowly as if thinking out loud, he began describing the scenario as he imagined it would play out. Reining in his persistent doubts, Blair forced himself to listen. “So … so, yeah, to bring the jury’s attention back to that press conference, Defense will probably mock you or challenge you directly. ‘Did you or did you not lie about your dissertation?’ Your answer? ‘I’ve explained that I cannot discuss my doctoral research.’ You’ll look to the Judge to make a ruling – if you’re ordered to reply or be in contempt of court, you just shrug and say, ‘Sorry, your Honor, but I cannot, by law, discuss this.’ Trust me, Chief – the Judge isn’t going to force you to reveal classified secrets in open court. The Judge will tell Defense to move on.”

Blair’s lips thinned and he looked away. “This is riding awfully close to the edge, man,” he countered with a frown. “I think … I think you’re making it all sound simpler than it is or will be.”

“Dammit, would you just listen!” Jim complained. When Blair nodded and held his hands up for peace, Jim resumed working out the details of how it might all unfold. “So, okay, sure, fine. It won’t be easy or simple. But you can play it out. ‘Are there such creatures as sentinels?’ Defense will demand, probably with a lot of sarcasm, still trying to discredit you. And you’ll answer, ‘Yeah, sure, probably, and for sure there are people with one or more enhanced senses.’ And then you’ll go on about how that’s not the point, and regale them with all sorts of examples and how useful the research you’re doing is for people who don’t understand what’s happening to them. The jury will forget the original question, but remember that whatever the problem with Rainier was, it’s been addressed, and that you got your PhD based on classified work with the government – and, yeah, they’ll probably guess it has something to do with sentinels, so what? The defense counsel will decide they’re doing themselves more harm than good, give up, and let it go.” Looking up, he met Blair’s eyes. “Blair, don’t you see? This can work.”

“But –”

“But _nothing_ , Chief!” Jim exploded as he whirled away. “You get what you want, okay? I don’t go public. But I am _not_ going to sit back and watch you take a ton of crap over this. Not anymore. So if the scenario doesn’t work for you, fuck it. I’ll damn well go public and be done with it. This is the best deal I’m going to give you, Sandburg. And don’t give me any of that ‘don’t throw my sacrifice back at me’ shit. Every damned time I thought about that conversation after … after I thought I’d lost you, I realized you were manipulating me. Trying to make me accept what you did and not make it right, because you were _still_ trying to protect me. Well, that’s bullshit, Blair. And don’t try to tell me you’re worried that they’ll think you’re some kind of fool for being willing to throw your career away. You know as well as I do that … that _everyone_ in the PD respects what partners do for one another to protect one another. They’ll treat you like a hero.” He paused and swallowed. “And that’s the way you should be treated. Because you _are_ a hero.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Blair retorted with a brittle laugh as he pushed away from the door. “Jim, all I’ve done is what anyone would do – help you with your senses. And do my job – which is to watch your back.”

“Anyone?” Jim echoed, frustrated disbelief in his tone. “Where do you get that? Anyone? Hell, you’re the only one who could have helped me.”

“Well, maybe, but only because I’d done the research,” Blair argued. “You saw those other guys. Hey, in less than two full weeks, they became guides, Jim. Anyone can do what I do, so long as they have the information.”

“That’s not true.” Jim covered the distance between them and, braiding his fingers through Blair’s curls to clasp his scalp, lifted Blair’s face. “Simon, Megan, and Joel all ‘know’ what to do, and all do their best when you’re not around. But it’s not the same, Chief. Not anything like the same. I didn’t say anything back there, because I know those sentinels need whatever help they can get, and maybe those wannabe guides will eventually get to be real guides. But it’s not about knowledge, Blair. It’s about intuition. About what’s in your heart as much as what’s in your head. About the way I feel – the way I’ve always felt – when you’re there, helping me. Like I’m safe, Blair. Nobody else makes me feel safe. Nobody had to tell you that your job is to protect your sentinel. You jumped right in and saved my life the very first day I met you. And nobody else helps me focus the same way or brings me back as fast; nobody else pulls things out of the air that work. That work, Chief. You have a gift, Sandburg. And, those other sentinels and their guides, they all knew that as well as I do. Didn’t you hear Josh when he called you, ‘ _The_ Guide’. There _is_ only one. Only you. The rest … the rest can only do their best. You hearing me, here?”

Gripping Jim’s forearms, Blair eyes were wide with his astonishment that Jim was saying so much that … that blew him away. Slowly, he nodded. “Yeah, I hear you,” he affirmed, struggling with his emotions. Reaching up with one hand, he laid a palm on Jim’s cheek. “Something in me,” he murmured, scarcely able to speak above a croaking whisper, “loved you from the first moment I saw you. I didn’t understand it and sometimes it scared me. And the way you trusted me scared me, ‘cause I was so, so afraid I’d let you down. And, and when you let me move in here, let me stay – let me become your friend … I knew, I knew my life was never going to be the same again. That I didn’t want anything more than this. To be with you. To help you.”

Blair shrugged uneasily. “I don’t know, Jim. Maybe some people are born with the propensity to be a guide in a similar way that others are born to be sentinels. Maybe this is just something inside of me. But … but I hope you’re wrong. I hope there are a whole lot of others like me out there. One for every sentinel. And I really, really hope that by some fluke of destiny, those guides found their sentinels just like I found mine – out of nowhere, man. Who could ever predict we’d meet? Huh? Maybe the same Universe that brought us together, brought them together, too. Like, like how one of the guides washed out and, and Ansel ended up being the perfect match for Ross. Maybe they’re all perfect matches, Jim. Because they need each other … like I need you to be whole. Maybe nothing random ever does happen. Maybe there’s always a purpose.”

“Maybe,” Jim allowed, his thumbs caressing Blair’s face. “All I know for sure is that you’re my guide and there won’t ever be anyone who can take your place. Not at my side. Not in my heart.”

Blair huffed a short laugh and he pulled Jim’s head down, to kiss him quickly. “Man, who ever told you you’re not a romantic schmuck? Keep this up and I’m gonna have to get you more roses.”

Blair loved the way Jim’s eyes started to sparkle and the small, almost astonished smile that floated over his lover’s lips. So vulnerable and so, so sweet. “I love you, Jim.”

“So, does that mean you’ll go along with my scenario? Controlled disclosure within the ‘law enforcement subculture’?”

Blair snorted and shook his head. “The best deal you’ll give me, huh?”

“The very best. Blair, those letters Edwards and the Commish will be receiving _have_ to mean something here. Have to help fix this, somehow. You’ll get your PhD from Rainier, you know you will, and that will speak volumes about your credibility in _any_ public forum. And I know damned well you can handle anything a defense attorney might throw at you. But, but it’s important to me to be straight with our colleagues downtown. I’m tired of the lies, Chief. I’m finished with, with playing some game of denial about what I am and about how important you are to me – how important what you do is in helping me. I just _won’t_ do that anymore. So, yeah, refuse the deal I’m offering and that’s it. I’ll call my own press conference.”

“You would, too.” Blair searched Jim’s eyes. “You drive a hard bargain, Ellison.”

“I’m my father’s son, Sandburg.”

“Yes, yes, you are,” Blair agreed, his tone approving. “You _sure_ you’re really okay with letting people know? In the PD, I mean. _Only_ the PD.”

“Yes, I am. They have to be able to trust both of us, Chief. And they won’t if they figure out we’ve both been lying to them, however good our reasons might be. It’s inevitable that they’ll find out, given how many already know. They need to hear it from us.”

Realizing Jim was right, Blair nodded. And then, surprising himself, instead of feeling anxious about the decision, he felt an immense sense of relief, a lightening of being. Only then did he realize how heavily his commitment to absolute secrecy even at the cost of his own credibility had been weighing upon him. “Okay, we’ll talk to Simon next week. Decide how to do it.”

“Great, okay, now we’ve got that solved,” Jim said, and he seemed to tense up again, “… there’s one other thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t you ever pull something like this again, you hear me?” Jim demanded, gripping Blair’s shoulders hard enough to leave bruises. There was a determined set to his jaw, but Blair was caught more by the glint of desperation in his partner’s eyes, and the ragged urgency of his voice. “I know I sometimes fly off the handle, and I know you were afraid to tell me – didn’t trust me enough to tell me.” Jim continued, his grip loosening. Flushing, Jim’s belligerence abruptly abated. Suddenly, he seemed at a loss for words and Blair saw deep hurt and shame fill his eyes just before Jim’s gaze faltered and dropped.

Blair grabbed his arms to keep him from drawing away. “It was _never_ about trust, Jim,” he insisted. “You have to believe that. I do trust you. I just ….”

“Didn’t want me hurt,” Jim supplied, his tone raw. “Yeah, I got that part.” He shook his head and took a breath. When he lifted his eyes, his gaze and tone were imploring. “Blair, we have to be straight with one another. No secrets – especially no dangerous secrets. No more trying to protect me – or anyone else, for that matter – on your own. Never again. You got that?”

Blair searched Jim’s eyes and thought about the work they would do together, the risks and threats and dangers. But Jim wasn’t talking about that, about the backup they’d give one another and what it might cost. No, he was talking about being shut out of decisions that affected the both of them. And Jim was right, absolutely right. “Yeah, believe me – never again, Jim. When I look back, I wonder why I didn’t tell you in the first place. I was just so … so terrified. So overwhelmed. Maybourne … Maybourne made me feel entirely powerless. God, I’ve never felt so emasculated. I just … I just didn’t know what else to do.”

“I know, I know,” Jim soothed, drawing him close, hugging him tightly. “It’s okay. I understand. I just don’t want you to ever think you have to face trouble alone. You’ve always been there for me, Blair. And I know that won’t change. You … you take such risks for me that it scares me. You _have_ to believe me, babe – I’m here for you, too.”

Blair clung to him and nodded against his chest. “I do believe you, I do. Full disclosure, man. I _promise_ you. I’ll never let anyone separate us again.”

“Okay, then.” Jim kissed the top of his head before leaning back and looking down at him, a tender smile growing on his face. “Welcome home, Chief.”

Blair laughed low in his throat and felt incandescent with joy when Jim took his hand and drew him toward the stairs.

**

Later, as they lay sated on sweat-dampened sheets, their bodies cooling after the heat of passion, Jim cradled Blair against his body, blissfully content to feel the satin warmth of Blair’s skin against his, to have his senses filled with Blair’s presence. He’d almost drifted into sleep when he smelled a tang of salt and felt a slow trickle of moisture on his chest.

Barely awake, he frowned as he puzzled out sensations that were somehow wrong. Inhaling more deeply, becoming more alert, full awareness kicked in. Drawing back in confused concern, he murmured, “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

Blair sniffed and swiped a hand over his face as he rolled over onto his back. “I’m sorry, man,” he gasped, evidently struggling for control.

Rising onto one elbow, Jim smoothed his palm over Blair’s brow, easing errant strands of hair out of his partner’s face. “What’s wrong?” he asked again, feeling thoroughly at sea.

“N-nothing, man. Nothing’s wrong,” Blair stammered. “I … it’s just that … I thought I’d lost this. Lost you. I thought I’d never see you again. And, and it’s just so good, you know? And I want to be with you so bad. For always, Jim. But, but … I … I thought I’d lost everything.”

“Ah, Chief,” Jim groaned, and pulled Blair close. Wrapping his arms around his beloved, he kissed Blair’s brow with great tenderness. “I’m not an easy guy to lose.”

He felt Blair laugh softly, a poignantly snuffling sound through his partner’s tears, and he smiled as he nuzzled Blair’s neck. “Go to sleep, Blair. I’ll still be here in the morning. And so will you. I promise.”

“I’m not really upset or anything, Jim,” Blair sighed, a tremulous whisper, his grip tightening around Jim’s shoulders. “I’m just so happy I can hardly stand it.”

“I know just how you feel, babe. I’m pretty damned happy, too.”

Blair sniffed and settled against him. Closing his eyes, Jim gave thanks to the Universe Blair was so fond of crediting for whatever happened – profound thanks – for bringing Blair back to him.

**

When Blair arrived with Jim on Monday morning, people stopped dead in their tracks and gaped at the sight of him. Many, more than he would have imagined, seemed genuinely glad to see he had somehow miraculously resurrected from the dead. Their response made him feel less awkward about the entire situation. When the inevitable questions were asked, “How is this possible? What happened to you?” he shrugged diffidently and told them, “It’s a long story. But it’s all sorted out now and everything’s okay.”

They met with Simon first thing, to share Jim’s idea about making the truth about his senses known throughout the department.

Leaning back in his chair, Simon said, “Well, I can’t say as I’m surprised, given what you’d said, Jim, when you first knew Blair was still alive. Okay, leave it with me. I’ll get things rolling.”

“What did you say to him?” Blair asked, sotto-voce on the way back to Jim’s desk. “I mean, when …”

“I know what you mean,” Jim replied as he sat down. “I told him I was tired of the secrets, all of them. It was after that, that I brought in a copy of your paper for everyone in Major Crime to read, so they’d know the facts and not just be guessing.”

Blair gave his partner a half-smile of appreciation. “I know it’s not easy for you, Jim. Letting people know.”

Jim gave him a wry grin in return. “You’d be surprised. It’s a whole lot easier than you’d think, given the alternatives. Let’s just say I got my priorities sorted out.”

**

Jim was frustrated that it took more than a week to set things up for their disclosure sessions. However, during that time, he was glad that Blair had been contacted by Edwards, and things at the university were sorting themselves out. And Simon had arranged for Blair to take his required training at the Academy in the next month. So, there was progress. Just not enough, fast enough, to suit him.

But, finally, he and Blair were scheduled to meet with each Unit. When they walked into the conference room where the Vice staff were waiting, Jim kept a possessive hand on Blair’s back until they were seated at the head of the table. Taking a breath, Jim leaned forward, crossed his hands on the table, and said, “I am a sentinel.”

He felt the welcome weight of Blair’s hand on his arm and he straightened, lifted his chin. “A sentinel is someone with five enhanced senses, meaning I can see, hear, smell, taste, and touch with more acuity than can anyone else.”

And so it went. After a week of meetings, of patiently answering questions, of dealing with some of the resentment that the secret had been kept so long, it was done. Jim breathed a sigh of relief as they left the last session. All told, they’d gone pretty well, and he’d gotten less flack than he’d anticipated. Even better, he’d seen a new respect for Blair dawn in the eyes of their colleagues in one unit after another. Smiling to himself as they climbed the steps back to Major Crime, he also appreciated the sternness with which Blair had explained the need for discretion in not sharing the information about his senses outside the PD. By the time Blair finished with them, they were usually nodding soberly, and then grinning at the idea that they knew something the rest of the city didn’t.

As they reached the last landing, Blair asked from behind him, “Jim, when we first talked to Simon about this, he said you were tired of keeping ‘secrets’, plural. What did he mean?”

Jim paused to let Blair come up beside him. “Just what he said. What I said. Chief, if I had my druthers, I wouldn’t just be telling them you’re my guide, you know? I … I would like to be able to make it perfectly clear to everyone who and what you are to me.”

Blair’s gaze narrowed. “But you can’t. We can’t. Departmental regs say significant others can’t be partners. Too risky for all sorts of reasons.”

“Yeah, yeah, Simon made that point. And I guess it’s nobody’s business but our own. Still …”

Blair clasped his arm and smiled up into his eyes. “You know what? When it comes right down to it, it doesn’t matter what they know or guess or wonder about, or even think about our personal relationship. They _know_ what they need to know. They know we’re _partners_.”

Looping an arm around his partner, his lover, his guide, his best friend, Jim nodded as they climbed the last flight of steps to the sixth floor.

**

The next Sunday morning, Jim was in the shower when the phone rang.

“Hello?” Blair answered, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder as he went on scrambling their eggs.

“Blair? It’s Bill.”

“Oh, hey, how’re you doing?” Blair replied, and slipped the eggs off the heat in order to give the conversation his full attention. “Jim’s in the shower. You want him to call you back?”

“No, actually, I’m just as glad to talk to you. I was wondering if the two of you would be free next weekend to come up to the cabin and do some fishing. I’m hoping Steven will be there, too. Long past time you saw the place and, well, it would give me a chance to get to know you better – and vice versa.”

“I’d like that, Bill. And, yeah, so far at least, barring an outbreak of major crime, next weekend looks good. Thanks. I’ll tell Jim.”

“Good, good. I’ll look forward to it, son.”

“Me, too …” he hesitated and then decided to go for it, “Dad.” He heard Bill’s pleased chuckle, and was still smiling when he hung up the phone.

When Jim came out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist and rubbing another over his hair, he asked, “Was that Dad’s voice I heard?”

“Yeah. He’s invited us to the cabin next weekend, to do some fishing with him and Steven.”

“Great. Naomi was right – you’re gonna love the place. Did he say if she’d be there, too?”

“No-o. Why, you think she might be?” Blair still wasn’t entirely sure about what he thought on the subject of William and Naomi. Mostly, he’d figured if he ignored it, it just might go away.

Jim shrugged as he moved in closer and put his hands on Blair’s hips. “Hard to tell what an Ellison might find attractive about a Sandburg, Chief,” he teased with a grin. “Now me, I like big blue eyes and long silky hair. But, who knows. Dad might prefer green eyes. And we’ve both always been kinda partial to redheads.”

“Yeah, yeah, you and your redheads,” Blair groused. “At least I’ve got the blue eyes and long hair, even if it’s not red.”

Jim lifted a strand and studied it. “No? Maybe not to your eyes – but you’d be surprised how much red I see in these curls.” He cupped Blair’s face with one hand. “Let’s not worry about Mom and Dad, okay? What happens, happens. And regardless of what happens, they’ll still be our family. All I care about is us. I’ve got my redhead – Dad can take care of getting his own.”

“Your redhead, huh?” Blair grinned as he encircled Jim’s body and hauled him closer.

“Yep. Mine. All mine.” Jim kissed the tip of his nose and drew away. “I’m gonna go put on some clothes. Be right back for breakfast.” As he loped toward the stairs, the edge of the towel flipping on the backs of his legs, Blair cocked his head and enjoyed the view. “Chief! The eggs.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, right.” Blair scooped the eggs out of the hot pan, finished buttering the toast, and poured the coffee. He was just ferrying everything to the table when Jim came down the steps.

They settled in for a lazy Sunday, eating as they read parts of the morning paper. But for the munching and crinkle of turning pages, quiet reined until Jim put the paper down and pushed his empty plate away.

“You know, all the red isn’t on the top of your head,” he observed, a teasing sparkle in his eyes.

Blair choked on his last bite of toast.

“I could show you, maybe, strand by strand, which ones are more red than the others,” Jim offered, and Blair could see him struggle to keep a straight face.

“You offering to take a test, Ellison?” he challenged, but his lips twitched as he tried to repress his own grin.

“Yeah, well, I guess I’ve got the hots for the Professor. What can I say?”

Laughing, Blair replied, “Never let it be said that I passed up an offer to test you!” Scraping his chair back, he took off for the stairs, Jim close on his heels.

Jim caught him just before he reached the bed, and tackled him so they both landed with a ‘whoomph’. They wrestled playfully for a bit, but Blair was eager for the ‘test’ to begin. “Shame you bothered to get dressed,” he mumbled as he lavished Jim with kisses.

“Nah, getting undressed is part of the fun,” Jim replied with a slow and easy drawl as he began to undo the buttons on Blair’s shirt. When he spread the material open and bent his head to place a kiss just above the edge of his t-shirt, Blair felt his toes curl with anticipation. But he groaned when Jim stopped kissing him and began tracing a delicate finger over his skin, separating fine hairs. “This one has more red, especially in the light,” Jim said with solemn attention. “And this one –”

“You’re killing me here,” Blair complained. “I thought we’d be going for, uh, samples lower down.”

Lifting his head, Jim swarmed up his body, and kissed him breathless. “We have all day, Chief,” he murmured into Blair’s mouth. “I plan to take my time and enjoy myself.”

Flopping back, spreading his arms wide on either side of his body, Blair snickered. “Okay, okay. Do your worst.”

“My worst? Uh-uh. Never. Always go for a personal best, that’s my motto,” he chided with a grin, as he fingers caressed the bulge in Blair’s jeans. When Blair moaned and arced up into his touch, he murmured, “Mmm, just love undressing you, Chief. So many layers. Heightens the anticipation. And what I find is always so worthwhile, you know?”

Blair was going crazy. Surging up, he flipped Jim onto his back and ripped his shirt open. “Not me,” he said, deliberately pitching his voice low and husky. But the seductive tones were easy ‘cause he was hot and hungry, and desire coursed through his veins. “I like to get rid of the wrapping as fast as I can.”

“S’okay. I’m more comfortable without clothes,” Jim replied with easy agreement as he slipped Blair’s shirt off his shoulders, pulled Blair’s t-shirt over his head, and then his hands were busy undoing Blair’s jeans.

Before he knew it, Blair found himself again on his back, sprawled beneath Jim’s appreciative scrutiny.

Leaning over him, his fingers tugging gently at the short, wiry curls, Jim shifted to let the light from the window above the bed shine directly upon Blair. “Yep,” he said, “lots and lots of red.”

“So you’re, like, saying,” Blair panted, finding it distinctly hard to think, let alone follow the conversation, “I’m the redhead of your dreams, huh?”

Jim looked up with a wide grin and winked at him, and then lowered his head.

Blair gasped and arced, and forgot all about tests.

Forgot about everything as the world spun away ...

… and he surrendered all that he was to his sentinel’s touch.

 

_Finis_

 

 

_MORSE CODE:_

 

A .- B -… C -.-. D -.. E .  
F ..-. G --. H …. I .. J .---  
K -.- L .-.. M -- N -. O ---  
P .--. Q --.- R .-. S … T -  
U ..- V …- W .-- X -..-   
Y -.-- Z --..

1 .---- 2 ..--- 3 …-- 4 ….- 5 …..  
6 -…. 7 --… 8 ---.. 9 ----. 0 -----

The Thousandth Man  
 _by Rudyard Kipling_

One man in a thousand, Solomon says,  
Will stick more close than a brother.  
And it's worth while seeking him half your days  
If you find him before the other.  
Nine hundred and ninety-nine depend  
On what the world sees in you,  
But the Thousandth man will stand your friend  
With the whole round world agin you.

'Tis neither promise nor prayer nor show  
Will settle the finding for 'ee.  
Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em go  
By your looks, or your acts, or your glory.  
But if he finds you and you find him.  
The rest of the world don't matter;  
For the Thousandth Man will sink or swim  
With you in any water.

You can use his purse with no more talk  
Than he uses yours for his spendings,  
And laugh and meet in your daily walk  
As though there had been no lendings.  
Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em call  
For silver and gold in their dealings;  
But the Thousandth Man he's worth 'em all,  
Because you can show him your feelings.

His wrong's your wrong, and his right's your right,  
In season or out of season.  
Stand up and back it in all men's sight --  
With that for your only reason!  
Nine hundred and ninety-nine can't bide  
The shame or mocking or laughter,  
But the Thousandth Man will stand by your side  
To the gallows-foot -- and after!


End file.
